


Arrangements

by Immortal_Magic_Freak



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Slow Burn, Teen AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-03-30 10:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3933991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immortal_Magic_Freak/pseuds/Immortal_Magic_Freak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teen AU.<br/>When Sherlock and John enter a partnership - Sherlock to appease his parents, John because he wants to - neither of them thought they'd actually get along. As their friendship progresses, both are surprised to find that they get along better than they first thought. But what will happen when feelings start to become less platonic than they were to begin with? Will Sherlock run away?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Note: HEYO! XD Please tell me what you think; I would love to know XD I own nothing and no one, apart from the following: Fredrik Jones, Theodore Wells.
> 
> JUST SO YOU KNOW: This is my first attempt at Sherlock and Johnlock, so please be kind! 
> 
> Please review XD
> 
> ALSO: I made up first and middle names for certain characters, just so I had something to work with.

**Sherlock**

Thursday, 28th August 2014.

A dreadful day, if I do say so myself. One mustn't...

Oh, _fuck it_!

I'm in my head. _Mummy_ and _Daddy_ can't berate me for not talking like a posh prat like Mycroft. I don't really see the point, to be honest!

 _If_ I ever had kids of my own, I was going to make sure they had such a better childhood than me.

Fuck being part of the wealthiest family in the country – not including the Royal Family! As long as my kids were happy and healthy, that's all I cared about.

But, first, there had to be someone who _wanted_ to be with me.

That was why we were on the Watson Estate, heading towards the ' _mansion_ '.

The Watson family were the second wealthiest family, after the Holmes family... Mother and Father thought it would be a _great_ opportunity – one the just _couldn't_ pass up, or talk to me about.

And, of course, Mycroft loved _every_ minute of it.

"Now, _Sherly_ , do cheer up." Mycroft (18) smirked, using the ' _nickname_ ' I loathed. "Mummy and Daddy have worked hard to arrange this."

"Just because I do not wish to go through with this _Myc-y_ , does not mean I must _pretend_ to _show emotion_." I spat. "My time could be spent better elsewhere."

Mycroft's grin only grew.

If I had my violin, I would have _definitely_ used it to send him away. It was fairly easy if I deliberately misplayed chords.

But, for now, I just had to make do with tripping him up so he collapsed to the ground.

"Have a nice fall, brother?" I asked, suppressing a grin.

I may have walked faster so he couldn't get his revenge.

Of course, Mycroft would _never_ do anything in front of ' _Mummy and Daddy_ '. Oh no, never... I guess sometimes it paid off to have those two around. Not that I would ever say that out loud.

" _Mycroft! Sherlock!"_ the two called from further ahead. _"Stop dawdling!"_

I repressed an eye roll, deciding that at this moment it would be better for all involved to just do as my parents said.

 _Nobody_ liked it when they got angry...

* * *

The mansion overall was fairly similar to ours in structure, of course the placement of the rooms were different. This was to be expected, of course.

The guy showing us towards the living area was Fredrik Jones. Fifty-two, working class family who had been working for the Watsons for generations. Two siblings: one older brother and a younger sister, the brother had died almost a decade ago. Limp caused by numerous hours spent on his feet, most likely started early in his life and was seemingly unnoticeable to him now. Happily married to his wife, had five children, six grandchildren, one great-grandchild on the way. Apparently doesn't hide behind a false cover – _lucky man..._ – acting the way he does every day at work.

_Dull._

Fredrik seemed like a nice guy... But you never could be too careful. I mean, if you didn't know them, my family _could_ be nice. Of course, I – and some of the others who knew them – knew differently.

I think it was fair for me to be wary. Especially of people I did not know.

The living area – _why couldn't people call it living room?!_ – was to the back of the house, overlooking the garden. I would admit that it looked lovely out there...of course, again, I would never admit that out loud.

The room itself was large – just smaller than ours – decorated simply. An open fireplace, large TV, books, ornaments, pictures...the works. Even flowers and plants were dotted around the room.

Homier than anything I had seen before.

Standing in view of the doorway were four people – Geoffrey (45), Philomena (44), Harriet (18) and John (17). Also known as The Watsons.

As my parents and brother went to greet the owners of the house, I hung back as best I could. Human contact and social whatever's weren't my thing. Never were, never would be.

I preferred being by myself.

And, hopefully, the Watsons would realise that and leave me be whenever I was dragged to their home or they came to ours.

Looking around, I could tell that the Watsons, even though their home was far more extravagant than the majority of people in the country, were simplistic people. Many of the things I had seen in the house were, obviously, family heirlooms and gifts from family and friends. They only spent money on things they needed and gifts for holidays, as well as other things that held sentiment for them. Many of the pictures around the house were of family, some painted by family members and friends, so they obviously didn't see the need for the dull art that were sold for a ridiculous sum of money.

I would have gone on with my findings, _if_ I didn't realise at that moment that I was actually speaking _out loud_ and _not_ in my head. The wide eyed looks from the Watsons, the glares from my parents and the exasperated expression on Mycroft's face was enough to let me in on that little fact.

"Well, it is true." I muttered, clasping my hands behind my back, straightening my spine as I looked to my right and out of the large window.

With the amount of practise I had, it was as easy as breathing for me to act like this. To act like a cold, heartless machine. You needed that kind of front when you had a family like mine.

"I'm terribly sorry; Sherlock _can_ be such a darling. Sometimes he just forgets himself and that it's not appropriate to act in certain ways." Mother – Wanda Holmes – apologised, giving me a hard look before turning back and smiling sweetly at the Watson's.

"He's a smart boy, of course. Some things escape his mind, on occasion." Father – Timothy Holmes – added.

And so it began.

* * *

While the parents talked, the four of us – Harriet, Mycroft, John and I – had been told to, basically, piss off. Of course the wording was far more _sophisticated_ and _polite_ than that.

That's how I found myself in the conservatory that overlooked a different part of the garden, with two people I did not know and one I despised. Of course, this didn't stop the eldest Watson from staring at me, not even _trying_ to hide it. The youngest was _far_ more subtle, though still obvious.

While John, attempted, to engage my brother in a conversation, I stuck with trying to keep myself as far away from them as possible, staring out of the glass with my hands clasped behind my back.

"So, you're some sort of genius?" Harriet asked, still staring at me.

"Yes." I replied, not glancing at her.

"How did you guess...?"

"I don't guess, I deduce."

In the reflection of the mirror, I noticed her thoughtful expression as she nodded a little.

Mycroft stayed surprisingly quiet, though there was no doubt that he would open that cake hole of his. Honestly, he thought that I wouldn't notice him breaking his diet, when it was _obvious_ to anyone.

"Deduce me." she said, leaning back on the sofa she was sitting on, arms stretched across the back.

It was then that I noticed John had stopped trying to talk to my brother and was now listening intently to our conversation.

"Repeat that?" I asked, frowning, turning around to face her.

"Deduce me." Harriet shrugged. "I wanna see what you can do."

_Well, that's a first._

Nodding a little, I let myself look over her.

"Harriet Amelia Watson, eighteen years old. I won't bore you with the obvious: siblings, parents, etcetera." I started, shoving my hands into the pockets of my trousers. "Light tan from a recent holiday, I say to Spain, but you stayed inside and out of the sun for the majority of the trip."

I noticed that Harriet and John grew more and more interested as I continued to talk – Harriet leaning forward in her seat, while John moved over to the sofa his sister was on and sat down next to her.

"You dance – break dance, hip-hop – nothing classical. I will agree it's very dull. No musical talent, not artistic, nor are you into writing. You prefer to read, funnily enough. Fantasy mainly, the common choice, easily identifiable by your earrings." I added.

Harriet's eyes grew wide, looking over to John before staring back at me. She nodded a little, swallowing and just continued to stare at me.

This was turning out to be even more interesting than I originally thought.

"Tomboy, obviously, which is why you prefer to be called Harry, also lesbian. Parents were surprised, but supported you anyway and you told your brother before them because you knew he would accept you, giving you the confidence and back up while coming out to them." I continued. "Clara, your girlfriend – obvious by the inscription on your phone case – is the opposite of you. She likes pink and the girly things, but that's one of the reasons you like her so much. The bracelet on your right wrist, the necklace you're wearing now and the scarf you have in place of a belt are all gifts from her, girlier than anything you usually wear, but you do because they're from her. When you find yourself fighting the call of too much alcohol, you look at or play with one of them to remind yourself not to drink, something you're doing right now. Even though you have a supportive family that are helping you, Clara is always the one who pulls you back from the edge. She really is special to you, isn't she? Hm, sentiment is a strange thing."

I was waiting for the inevitable. The moment of outrage where I would be told to ' _piss off_ ', like so many others had told me before.

Or a punch in the face, which some had tried – and failed – to do as well.

Of course, I wasn't expecting what happened next.

"That. Was amazing." John grinned, the words almost pulled from him.

Harriet, on the other hand, just left the room – most likely calling Clara, considering the way she was clinging to her phone.

"You think so?" I frowned, just as Harriet left the room.

"Of course it was." John grinned. "Extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off."

He laughed, still grinning away...

It was a strange feeling.

* * *

It was an hour, thirty five minutes and forty two seconds later when Mycroft, Harriet, John and I returned to the living room to face our parents.

Mother and Father were grinning, so obviously the Watson's had agreed to the ' _arrangement_ '. I sighed, closing my eyes for a second, before straightening my posture and raising my chin, hands still clasped behind my back.

No matter how uncomfortable and irritating it was – being still was always the worst thing for me to do.

Mother, Father and the Watson's explained what would happen. Of course, I had already known. The arranged ' _partnership_ ' between John and myself – yes, they expected us to _be together_ – was to proceed and we were, obviously, to get to know each other. This would happen by one of us living with the other family. They would then expect us to, in the future, be married...

This was only convenient for my parents and I obviously did not get a say in the matter. The Watsons were under the assumption that I had already agreed to this _deal_.

"Of course we'll visit you during the holidays and on your birthday, Sherlock." Father told me as the explanation came to an end.

"Oh, when _is_ your birthday, Sherlock, dear?" Philomena – Mrs Watson – asked, smiling kindly.

Looking at each person in turn, noting the curious gazes of the Watsons and bored ones of my family, I sighed and stared at the floor in front of me.

"...Today... Today is my birthday." I muttered, already feeling the shame pool in my stomach.

"He's just turned sixteen, isn't that wonderful?!" Mother grinned, the joy on her face being that she got to get rid of me and nothing else. "Oh, look at the time, we're late. Someone will be by with your things shortly. Be good, Sherlock."

And with that the three of them just... _left_.

I stared after them, eyes wide, my shoulders hunching.

They said _nothing_ about leaving me _today_! That wasn't how it happened!

But what could I do?

Bemused, I watched as Mycroft looked over his shoulder at me. For a moment, I thought it was going to happen; the old Mycroft would come back... But all he did was stare down his nose at me, following after Mother and Father like the ' _good boy_ ' he was.

Gritting my teeth and clenching my jaw, I glared at the floor, trying to hide and fight back the wave of hurt. I mean, I should be used to this already... I did have to put up with it for sixteen years of my pitiful existence.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed John looking at my left hand.

Glancing at it myself, I noticed that I did _it_ again. I suppose it was a nervous habit, bunching up the end of my left sleeve and gripping it tightly in that hand. Mother and Father had always been annoyed at my doing so, couldn't stand it.

As soon as I noticed, I released the sleeve, gripping my hands behind my back again.

I heard the front door close, the sound notifying that my parents had left... I was alone with these people that I barely knew, stuck with them.

This was not going to go well...

Standing there, in the middle of the room, I didn't know what to do.

Being left here was not what I thought would happen today...

It wasn't the fact that it was on my birthday. We never actually celebrated the damn thing anyway, so why make a big fuss over it? Yeah, I knew sixteen was ' _one of the big ones_ ', but when you've gone your whole life with your birthday being just another day then you lean to just not care.

It was the same with Christmas and Halloween.

Risking a glance at the people I would now be spending everyday with, I noticed the contained furious expressions on Mr and Mrs Watson's faces... John and Harriet were surprised and shocked... Though there was something else mixed in with John's expression – something I couldn't identify... But I couldn't understand why. Well, I knew _why_ , but I couldn't...you know?

Sighing, I folded my arms over my chest, backing up slightly.

I really did not want to be here right now.

Mr Watson cleared his throat a little, opening his mouth to speak. Of course, before he could say anything, the front door opened again.

" _Hello! Anybody home?!"_ a familiar voice called.

Before I even realised what I was doing, I ran as fast as I could out of that living room and towards the entrance to the house.

The walls were just a blur of beige, the pictures and flowers a blur of random colours... A small smile slipped onto my face as I skidded around corners and dodged past a numerous amount if people on the way.

And then, just as I turned another corner, she was there.

"Mrs Hudson!" I grinned, running over to the slightly elderly woman.

"Sherlock?" she gasped, surprised, smiling all the same, placing her hands on my shoulders lightly. "Oh, look at you! All grown up! What are you doing here?"

"Mother. Father. Business. They left five minutes and thirty eight seconds ago."

"They did _that_ business, on your birthday? You poor dear! Come on, I'll make you some nice tea. Black, two sugars?"

"You know me so well, Mrs Hudson."

At least there was a familiar face here.

* * *

Mrs Hudson used to work for my parents, in the house. She looked after Mycroft and me. Of course, Mycroft – after a certain point – didn't like that. I, on the other hand, was always quite fond of Mrs Hudson. She was the only one that cared. She would often make me tea and we'd sit and talk. Well, we'd sit until I couldn't keep still and then we'd walk around the gardens.

Mother and Father didn't like that was becoming quite close with her, saying that I ' _should not be distracted by silly stories_ '. So they fired her and I was alone again.

I never knew where she went after. No phone call or letter that I knew of, though I could understand why.

But here she was, lovely Mrs Hudson.

So, now, Mrs Hudson and I were sitting in the kitchen at the table, cups of tea in front of us. I hadn't been so calm since she left.

"You're still _far_ too skinny, Sherlock. And you look so tired!" she sighed. "Honestly, you need to take care of yourself, dear."

"The body is just transport for the mind, Mrs Hudson." I chuckled. "I don't need food or sleep."

"Sherlock Holmes, that is nonsense and you know it."

"Digestion slows me down. There are many things I could be missing out on doing – like my experiments – if I'm eating or sleeping. My way is far better."

"One of these days I will have you eating and sleeping regularly, just your wait."

I just grinned at her.

Mrs Hudson was the only person I really and truly felt comfortable with...well, a little, anyway. But she was more of a mother figure than anything... I considered her family, not a friend.

"So, they know nothing about you, huh?" Mrs Hudson asked, gesturing to the kitchen door.

"Of course not. Mother and Father just wanted rid of me ASAP." I sighed, grin dropping. "Though, the four of them are outside the door now, trying to get as much information on me as possible. But it won't work; they don't have my intellect to deduce what I can."

Mrs Hudson just shook her head.

"Mycroft didn't even care." I muttered, quietly.

When we were young – _very_ young – Mycroft and I used to get along great. He'd stick up for me, and I him. We'd play together in the way brothers _should_. Mycroft used to be, what I thought was, the perfect big brother.

Then, as soon as he turned eleven – I was nine – Mycroft changed. He became the snooty, arrogant bastard he was now. He didn't have time to play nice with his little brother; didn't have time for me at all, actually. He became worse when his own arranged _thing_ with Gregory Lestrade came about – _but Mycroft and Gregory were dating_ before _, so the arrangement between those two_ had _to happen._

Over the years, I had learnt to be just as cruel back. Though I never did give up the delusion of, one day, Mycroft turning back into the brother I once had.

But I should. The Mycroft I once knew was never coming back.

The Mycroft I knew had been dead for seven years.

"Oh, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson sighed, sadly. "I can promise you that the Watsons are _nothing_ like your parents. They're very nice people, you know. Would never treat anyone poorly."

"People change when you least expect or _want_ them to." I mumbled. "It always happens."

* * *

Mrs Hudson and I spent a while catching up. We actually managed to stay in the kitchen, though I did have to get up and pace around the kitchen for most of it, just so I could then sit back down again.

It was a good thing Mrs Hudson was used to that.

"Feeling a little calmer, dear?" she asked, after we had finished catching up.

"A little." I nodded.

I leaned back in the kitchen chair, drumming my fingers on the surface of the oak table. I could never seem to be still, in for a few seconds. I always had to move _some_ part of my body to try and release the horrible fidgety feeling.

Mother and Father _really_ hated me being fidgety.

Mrs Hudson was the only one who could put up with it – Mycroft could to, before he changed... But I couldn't dwell on that now.

I had to put all of that behind me.

I sighed, slumping down even more, planting my feet further apart from each other to support the position.

"I don't want to be here." I admitted, staring down at the table.

"I know, dear, but believe me, you'll like it here." Mrs Hudson replied. "And you can always come and find me if you need someone."

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson."

The woman only smiled at me, getting up from her seat to make more tea, not bothering to ask if I wanted more – she knew my answer would be yes. There were four drinks that I would _always_ say yes to having: tea, hot chocolate, coca-cola and apple juice.

I took this time to look around the kitchen. It was _very_ modern, the counters made of black, white and dark purple marble, the cabinets above them made of the same. The handles on the draws and cabinets were thing long cylinders made of silver metal, the built in fridge and freezer the same colour. The floor was tiled, looking like wood, the lights above the table in the middle of the room a chandelier.

All in all, still very simplistic for people with as much money as them. It was a known fact that my parents went to every length to ensure that they had the best and the newest of _everything_.

When Mrs Hudson made her way back, placing the steaming cup of tea in front of me, she also placed a notepad and pen beside me.

"I'll be right back, dear. Just have to sort a few things out." she smiled, patting my hand gently.

"Make sure you tell them about my Mind Palace." I grinned, bringing the notepad and pen closer towards me.

She didn't need to ask how I knew what she was going to do.

* * *

Sitting there, I drew staves down one page of the notepad, splitting each one into four bars, placing a treble clef at the beginning of the first bar of every stave. There would be times, back at my parents' house – I had never called it home – where I would just lock myself in the room I had for hours each day, writing compositions for my violin – and guitar, since I also played that, but mainly violin. It was the only thing, besides my experiments and retracting inside my Mind Palace, which kept me occupied.

I never really stayed to the composition I wrote, only taking bits and piece before improvising the rest until I found the perfect combination of notes. There was not a single composition that I didn't change.

I could always seem to hear what I was writing down in my head, as if I was actually playing my violin... I guess that shows I play it a bit _too_ much.

Mrs Hudson was the only other person to know that I could stay calm when composing. It was one of the things that kept me from fidgeting.

Out of all the people that knew me, Mrs Hudson was the one that knew me the best... Well, she only knew a little more than other people and even _that_ wasn't a lot.

I had a sinking feeling that no one would _ever_ know the _real_ me. I would be forced to hide behind the mask I had built up over the years.

My composition had moved onto the second page of the notebook by the time Mrs Hudson came back into the kitchen, but, this time, the Watsons came with her. Anyone could have been able to tell – since the number of footsteps had increased, it was obvious.

"I look forward to hearing that, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson said, smile evident in her voice.

"I'd be delighted to play it for you." I nodded, keeping my eyes on the paper in front of me. "Once I've perfected it, of course."

"Oh, of course, dear. More tea?"

"Please."

The only sound I heard was Mrs Hudson moving around, meaning the Watsons hadn't moved from their current positions – two by the counter (Mr and Mrs Watson), one leaning against the wall by the door (Harriet), and one sitting on one of the chairs near me (John). They said nothing as I continued to place notes on the stave.

Sighing though, I placed the pen down for a moment, looking up and steeple-ing my fingers under my chin, elbows resting on the table either side of the notebook.

"I suppose I should mention, I play the violin when I'm thinking, so it's unfortunate if you don't like the instrument. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end; of course that is a blessing for most people." I said. "Mrs Hudson has probably informed you of my eating and sleeping patterns, so don't be surprised if I'm sitting somewhere playing my violin or in my Mind Palace. Oh, and don't disturb me when I'm in my Mind Palace, I find that extremely annoying and I don't like being irritable."

I noted that Harriet didn't look at me, keeping her eyes on the floor of the kitchen, clutching at her mobile phone; Mr and Mrs Watson glanced between us all... John was the only one – other than Mrs Hudson – to look _right_ at me.

I stared back, my eyes and mind instantly cataloguing everything I saw and deduced. My head tilted to the side slightly as I glanced at his left shoulder and his leg longer than the rest of him, frowning slightly.

As I looked back to his face, I noticed that John had taken to staring at the table.

"Interesting." I muttered to myself.

"What's interesting?" John asked, slowly, unsure if he wanted to know what I had found.

But, before I or anyone else could speak, there was a knock at the door.

I knew that knock.

"Of course, they'd send _Wells_." I spat, eyes narrowing as I stood up.


	2. Chapter 2

**John**

We watched as Sherlock left the kitchen, glaring as he went.

I could honestly say that I had never met another person like him in all my life... And now we were, kind of, dating, thanks to our parents. Of course, my parents had asked me first and it wasn't as if I could say no to them – besides, I was intrigued. Not really. Though, I got the vibe that Sherlock's parents weren't as... _polite_ as mine. To be honest, they didn't seem very loving, either.

I was the first to follow him, curious as to whom ' _Wells_ ' was. Well, I suppose it could be someone who worked for his parents, considering the amount of disdain in his voice when he spoke the name, but I couldn't be too sure. Also, there was the fact that Sherlock was just... _extraordinary_.

Of course, as soon as I got to the front door, I saw that my guess was right, as I saw boxes being carried in. But that wasn't what caught my attention. What did, however, was the fact that Sherlock stood facing a guy in his late twenties – light red hair, brown eyes, tall, slim, wearing a suit –, his hands curled into fists and expression murderous.

"I suggest you leave before I run my fist _through_ that _mind numbingly stupid_ head of yours." Sherlock growled, taking a menacing step forward.

Even though this guy – obviously _Wells_ – put on an unaffected front, he took a subconscious step backwards.

"Now, Master Holmes, that wouldn't be the impression your parents would want you to make now, is it?" this guys sniggered. "I will leave as soon as everything has been removed and taken upstairs to where Mr Jones has informed me your room will be."

"Maybe I'll just skewer you through the eye with the riding crop instead." was all Sherlock replied with, as if ignoring anything the guy said. "Or I could find the spear – so many possibilities, hey, _Teddy_."

"Master Holmes, I will remind you that my name is _Theodore_ not _Teddy_. Please do well to remember that."

"Now, now, _Teddy_. You're not supposed to argue, _remember_."

Theodore's hand twitched at his side. It was either a subconscious tick he had _or_ he was about to hit Sherlock.

Now, even though Sherlock had only been in the house for a few hours, he didn't seem like the kind of person everyone at the school made him out to be. He seemed like an alright bloke, if a bit strange. But who wasn't strange?

Yes, Sherlock might be a bit more than most, but the way his mind seemed to work was brilliant!

Besides, an adult _hitting_ a sixteen year old? It was outrageous.

"Mr Wells, everything seems to be in order." Fredrick – _thankfully_ – interrupted. "You may take your leave now, I'm sure Mr Holmes will want to sort his boxes out now."

Fredrick didn't even give Wells a chance to reply, simply escorting the man out with a forceful and on his shoulder. I definitely _didn't_ imagine the smirk on Sherlock's face at that.

"Insufferable prick." I heard Sherlock mutter.

This was going to be interesting...

* * *

** Sherlock **

I watched as Fredrik closed the door, with far more force than necessary, as soon as Wells had stepped out of the house. The smirk didn't leave my face, the joy too much for me to be able to keep a compose exterior. It took a lot for me not to be able to keep a look of indifference on my face, but someone putting Wells in his place – someone other than me? Now, that was enough to break the mask.

Fredrik turned around slowly, brushing down his jacket, smiling slightly to himself. It started me thinking that maybe, just maybe, Mrs Hudson was right...

"Mr Holmes, why don't I show you to your room." Fredrik spoke, turning to face me fully.

"Please, call me Sherlock." I winced. "Mr Holmes is my father.

"Of course. Follow me."

I started to follow Fredrik up the stairs, the stairs that were right behind me. We didn't get far, though, before we were stopped by Mrs Watson.

"Dinner won't be long now. Do you like lamb, Sherlock?" the woman asked, still smiling kindly.

"I won't be eating." I told her, bluntly. "One of my experiments is at a crucial stage; I mustn't be distracted by bodily functions that I can easily avoid."

With that, I turned to continue following Fredrik up the stairs.

Upstairs, light halls had wooden floors too, but with a red carpet laid out in the middle of the floor coloured walls, many pictures covering the walls, carpets laid out, vases of flowers seemingly dotted around the place.

Now, ' _my room_ ' was on the third floor – the first being the entrance, living room, kitchen, etcetera; second being Mr and Mrs Watson's bedroom as well as – I assumed – guest rooms, a library and a study, which was much like the third floor. As you came up the stairs and turned left, the door to ' _my room_ ' was the first door to the right. It was a plain wooden door, simple...though I had a feeling they would try and get me to change that soon...

"Across from you, you have Master John's room." Fredrik told me. "Miss Harry has the room next to Master John's."

I nodded. It was obvious that those were their rooms, considering their names were placed on the doors – John's being red, Harry's being blue. Strange, considering most would have it the opposite way, but I suppose those two were unlike most of the... _imbeciles_ out in the world.

"I'll let you get comfortable." Fredrik told me, leaving me by the door.

I waited until Fredrik had started walking down the stairs to actually walk into, what was now to be ' _my room_ ', closing the door behind me as I did so.

Like I was told, my stuff had already been placed in the room. Still packed up, of course – ready for me to deal with and put where I wanted. There wasn't any way I was going to deal with it all at that moment though, deciding that it would be better to leave for the next day, so I could use the excuse to not leave the room.

Looking around properly, I noticed that it was slightly bigger than the one at the parents' house, with an en suite bathroom attached. The floor switched from the smooth wood from the hallways to a soft-looking black carpet – perfect for any spillages from my experiments. Plus, black was a nice colour – _technically a shade, but oh well_ – to have; could never go wrong with black. The walls were white, and the only furniture – other than the bed – seemed to be a desk and chair, a wardrobe, a few shelves, a few cabinets and a couple of draws. There were two other doors in the room – on that went through to the en suite and the other...well, the other was closed. The bed was dressed in dark purple and dark blue sheets, a black blanket folded over the edge – trailing over the trunk at the end of the bed. The mattress was nine and a half inches thick, seeming to never have been slept in.

Seeing the bed made it all sink in, everything kind of...hitting me. I walked, slowly, over to the bed, kicking off my dress shoes before climbing onto it.

"This is actually happening." I muttered to myself.

I moved the pillows so the rested against the headboard, turning round so my back was resting against the pillows. I encircled me knees, hugging them close to my chest, resting my head on them.

"This is actually happening." I whispered again.

I hated my birthday.

* * *

A short while later, there was a knock on the door. I was still in the same position as I was when I first entered the room – hugging my knees on the bed.

I grunted in the general direction of the door, making sure to slip right back into how I was ' _supposed to act_ '. I hated having to act like that, like I was better than everybody else... But it's what everyone expected from a Holmes – one couldn't disappoint.

Honestly, I thought it was going to be Mr or Mrs Watson, possibly both of them... It definitely wasn't going to be Harriet – she had been avoiding even looking at me since my deductions of her.

I wasn't expecting John to walk through the door. Well, when I say walk, I meant limped. I had seen John with his cane around school so I wasn't surprised to see it. To be honest, I didn't take much note of it. I was sure he was sick of everyone staring and asking questions.

John shut the door behind him, walking into the room slightly before leaning against the wall to take pressure off his leg.

"If you're here to tell me about your therapist appointment tomorrow, you needn't do that, I already know." I sighed, tilting my head up to stare at the ceiling. "Hm...your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. Although, if she was any good, you wouldn't need her or the cane anymore, I suggest you stop going."

"Extraordinary." John muttered. "Um, no, that wasn't it. Dinner's ready; wanted to know if you were hungry."

"I already informed your mother that I wouldn't be eating. Is that all?"

John hobbled a little further into the room, leaning on the cane. He didn't come too close, still staying near the door – obviously just as nervous and awkward as I was. Understandable of course, since we didn't know each other at all – well, apart from what I had deduced about him and the rumours John had heard about me from school.

"I thought we could, you know, get to know each other." John said. "I mean, it's kind of what we have to do, right?"

"Let me clear this up. I have no interest in relationships, as far as I'm concerned I'm married to my work. I don't care whether or not you seek relationships with others, as long as I don't have to hear about them." I explained. "As you know, my parents are both fairly old; neither of them will be living long. As soon as we're both in our mid twenties to early thirties they'll be dead and we can forget about this whole arrangement – you can go on to marry a nice girl, have two point five children and a dog."

John nodded slowly, a small frown on his face.

"What about friends?" he asked.

"I don't have friends." I frowned.

"Well, you have one now. Happy birthday, Sherlock."

"Good evening, John."

And with that, the youngest Watson left.

_Interesting..._

* * *

I didn't come out of that room, deciding it would be best to put things away. Besides, it would help if I was comfortable with one room in the entire house. Yes, I know, it would take some time before that happened, but I could get a start by unpacking and spending some time in there.

Surprisingly, none of my experiments had been affected in the move, all of them still perfectly intact. Of course, I had no idea where to put them. Back at my parents' house, there were many rooms that I could go to without having to worry about going into the wrong one – especially with the floor that my room was on. Unfortunately, I couldn't do that in the Watson's home.

Sighing a little, I went over to the closed door in the room – it was to the left as you walked into the room. It was surprising, considering there was no door near the one for the room I was inhabiting, the next one being further down the hallway. The door peaked my interested so, of course, I had to go investigate.

The door was open, a key sticking out of the lock – at least I knew I could lock it if need be. Placing the key in my pocket for now, I opened and walked through the door. I ended up walking into a room, with wooden flooring, that overlooked a part of the gardens – just like the main room did – one wall being all glass. There was one long, rectangular table in the centre of the room, a stool in the corner by the glass wall and a large whiteboard along another. A cabinet was to the left, a range of items packed in there, still in boxes.

_Interesting._

Going over to the glass wall, I could see Mrs Hudson and a few others tending to the garden. Mrs Hudson always loved nursing the flowers, especially the chrysanthemums... Mother didn't care for them much, but they always seemed to pop up around the gardens. It was obvious that Mrs Watson thought differently to Mother in many ways.

"Your parents mentioned your experiments." a voice said from behind me. "Geoffrey and I thought you would get more use out of this room than anyone else."

Turning around, Mrs Watson was standing in the doorway between the room with the glass window and the one it was attached to, smiling softly.

"Thank you, you and you're husband are most kind, Mrs Watson." I nodded. "You certainly didn't need to do such a thing."

"Nonsense, dear. It was the least I could do." she replied. "And none of that ' _Mr and Mrs_ ' malarkey, call us Geoffrey and Philomena."

That wasn't expected, I would be honest. Any and all associates of my parents expected to be addressed by their title and last name; obviously I thought that would be the same for Mr and Mrs Watson.

Frowning slightly, I tilted my head to the side... I couldn't quite understand why these people were so... _nice_. No one was ever nice to me – apart from Mrs Hudson, of course. To everyone else, I was a _freak_. Something to be avoided. A machine. People saw me as a thing without feelings...

"We would love to get to know you, Sherlock." Mrs Watson continued. "You seem like such a lovely young man, and Mrs Hudson can't stop singing your praises. It would be nice if we could find out more."

"I assure you, there is not much to know." I sighed. "It would be tedious; a waste of breath. Much better if we don't go through that process."

"Ah, I see; you're a little shy. Don't worry, dear, we can talk once you're more comfortable. Happy Birthday, Sherlock."

Just like her son, Mrs Watson walked away, calling over her shoulder to tell me that should take as much time as I needed in ' _my room_ '.

Shaking my head slightly, I started to move my experiments into the side room – as I had now dubbed it. Of course, I had to find a way to get a fridge into that room – I didn't want any of my more... _delicate_ experiments to go wrong. It would be easy to do; I had snuck worse things into a room before.

Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair. This was not how I thought this birthday would go.


	3. Chapter 3

**John**

I didn't know quite what to make of Sherlock. He was amazing, that was for sure... I didn't know how he guessed everything, I didn't know how he couldn't have friends – _everyone_ had friends...

I didn't know what to think about him.

Mum and Dad seemed to like him... Harry was a bit reserved, considering what Sherlock had said to her. Mrs Hudson obviously was very fond of him, but considering she explained that she knew him when he was very young – and, apparently very different to what he was like now – that was to be expected.

I spent most of the night trying to figure Sherlock out. I didn't know why it was bothering me so much, or what for that matter, but I ended up being awake for most of the night... That's why, when I _did_ wake up, I ended up going into Harry's room – after knocking; I don't have a death wish.

Harry and I had been getting along _a lot_ better now she had been getting help for her alcohol problem. She had turned back to the sister I loved. This meant I could talk to her a lot more, about _everything_. I couldn't do that when she was slowly killing herself, but now she was back.

Anyway – I was sitting at the end of Harry's bed, both of us still in our pyjamas, discussing Sherlock. We talked about the obvious rift between him and his parents. We talked about the fact that he was definitely different, just like we heard people say, but not in a bad way, like others insisted – he was his own brand of unique. We talked about a lot of things to do with Sherlock.

"How are you feeling after what he said yesterday?" I asked, hesitantly, knowing the alcohol issue was still a touchy subject, keeping my eyes on her duvet.

"I'm not sure." Harry sighed. "But I can't be mad at him, I mean, I did _ask_ him to ' _deduce_ ' me. Should have seen it coming, you know?"

"I'm surprised he knew."

"Well, his brother – Mycroft – is the same. The guy's in my English class. Seems to have a lot more social skills than Sherlock, but they both seem to know things they shouldn't. It's scary awesome."

I just nodded, relaxing a little – at least she didn't want to kill him. I mean, that would just make things bloody awkward!

"How do you feel about dating him?" Harry asked, bluntly, flopping onto her back.

"I'm not." I replied.

"What? Yes you are. Or don't you remember the whole medieval-arranged-marriage thing?"

Rolling my eyes, I lay down next to my sister, the pair of us staring up at the glow in the dark stars she had had on her ceiling since she was three. She had arranged them to spell out her and Clara's names – literally writing their names in the stars... It was all very romantic and sickly, but it made my sister happy.

"We talked – we're just friends." I told her.

"Wonder how long that'll last." Harry mussed.

"Shut up, Harry."

* * *

Harry and I trudged downstairs, neither of us being able to stay in our rooms longer than necessary, even when we were talking. It was easier to just go downstairs and just watch some telly – something that required no effort. Of course, when we got to the living room, neither of us expected to find Sherlock lying on the floor, his hands steepled in front of his face, staring at the ceiling. If I couldn't see the faint rise and fall of his chest – or the fact his eyes were open – I would have thought that he had passed out and wasn't breathing.

As Harry shrugged and went off to the kitchen to make some tea, I hobbled, with my cane, over to the prone, seemingly-lifeless sixteen year old lying on the living room floor. Carefully, I lowered myself into one of the armchairs – the one nearest Sherlock – leaning my cane against the side of it. I watched him for a moment, noting the small crease between his eyes and the rapid side-to-side movements of his eyes as he lay completely still. I didn't know a person _could_ lie as still as he was now. It was strange...yet fascinating, a lot like Sherlock himself.

Of course, it was quite disconcerting. That was why I decided to try and bring him back to the present. All I did was barely touch he shoulder and Sherlock launched himself upwards into a sitting position. He seemed alarmed at first but, as soon as he spotted me, his whole demeanour changed, his irritation palpable.

"Was I not _clear_ in my explanation yesterday?" he seethed. "I _specifically_ said to _not_ disturb me when in my Mind Palace. What part of that did you fail to understand?"

It was at this point that Harry poked her head around the kitchen door, keeping a hold of the door frame – the sound of the kettle boiling drifting through.

"You should know to never wake a sleeping dragon, Johnny." Harry grinned, winking slightly. "How do you like your tea, Sherlock?"

" _Never you mind, Harry, dear."_ Mrs Hudson's voice drifted in from the kitchen. _"You go sit down, love; I'll bring it in when it's done."_

Even though you didn't see her, you could tell that Mrs Hudson shuffled Harry out of the kitchen – a common occurrence.

As my sister walked towards the couch near me, I heard Sherlock growl before pushing himself up from the floor, walking over to one of the other armchairs, lifting something up from beside it.

I don't know how I missed the violin that had been resting against the side of the armchair, but I didn't pay it much thought as Sherlock fitted the instrument under his chin, raising the bow in the opposite hand an dragging it over the strings, the fingers of his other hand creating the shape of chords I couldn't put a name to.

I did, however, know that Sherlock was playing _Sivan's transcription of the Liszt B minor sonata for solo violin_ – mine and Harry's Gran, our dad's mum, liked classical music...I could name _a few_ pieces.

Harry always hated the classical side of music, leaning more towards the upbeat – something with a beat that she could dance to. Me? Well, as long as I liked the sound of it, I didn't care what genre. _This_ particular piece just happened to be one of the ones that I liked. Of course, Harry couldn't deny that a live performance was _far_ better than some crappy old record.

* * *

**Sherlock**

Anger, irritation, frustration, cold, uncaring... It was my default setting.

Bad things happened if people got close to me – they always left, they always _changed_. Pushing people away was the only option. I hadn't wanted to snap at John, honestly, I hadn't. He had been nothing but nice to me so far – he wanted to be _my friend_ – and I was being... Well, there were many things I was being at that moment, too many to name.

Playing my violin helped me think. Sometimes, if I was lucky, it helped me clear my head for a moment, give me that small amount of silence that came to everyone else so easily. People took the silence for granted. People took their normalness for granted. Sometimes, it would just be so much easier if I were... _normal_ and not some _freak_.

I hadn't been able to sleep the night before and there was nothing I could do with my experiments to keep me busy. I suppose that I should have stayed in the room, but it was too confining – so I had gone to the living room with my violin. I had turned on a small lamp, casting a warm glow around the room so I could see more than what the moon allowed me to, carefully placing my violin next to the armchair that was never used – obvious by the lack of an imprint. It was fairly easy to determine who sat where based on the size of the imprint left on the seat – John's being the easiest, considering the amount of shifting he did because of how uncomfortable his psychosomatic limp made it for him to sit. Sitting had proven fairly uncomfortable to get me in the right place for my Mind Palace and lying down had always helped – the sofa was out of the question, considering it was used from the moment people entered the living space, so the floor it was! I had been sorting around the ' _rooms_ ' in my Mind Palace, opening four new doors with the names of the four Watsons on them. I was going to be living with them for quite some time, so it seemed necessary that they all had their own ' _rooms_ ' in my Minds Palace.

As I played, I – mentally – walked into John's ' _room_ ', adding a few more things to the slow growing space. I had a feeling that I would learn a lot about John Watson over the course of my staying at the house.

"That sounds lovely, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson gushed as she came in with the tea. "I've missed your playing, dear."

"Anytime you would like a small performance, I'd be happy to play for you, Mrs Hudson." I smiled, softly, ending the piece as I did, instead moving on to the composition I had started on the day before. "You should know that by now."

"I'll keep that in mind – now, sit down and have your tea, Sherlock."

Huffing a sort of laugh, I placed my violin down carefully and taking the cup she held out, slowly sipping the hot liquid.

_Thank God for Mrs Hudson._

* * *

That afternoon, I took a walk around the grounds. I always enjoyed the peacefulness of walking outside, especially when there was barely anybody around – Mr and Mrs Watson were occupied with work, Mrs Hudson was on the phone to a friend of hers, Harriet was talking to her girlfriend and John was watching some mindless programme or another.

It was surprisingly warm and sunny for England that Friday, the sky clear of any clouds – a lovely day to be outside. That's something people wouldn't expect from me – liking being outside. But I always had, ever since I was young. I could spend hours outside at a time, no matter the weather and, no matter how hot or sunny it was, I just wouldn't tan or burn. I stayed as pale as a china doll – well, that's how Mrs Hudson described my complexion.

It was as I neared the back of the house that I found a, mostly, empty spot. Lying down, I closed my eyes, taking in the sounds and the smells around me. It was peaceful, _nice_. And I didn't have to worry about ' _Mummy and Daddy_ ' finding me – didn't have to worry about them getting angry.

Now _that_ was something I liked.

Mother and Father both had a horrible temper. Mycroft never faced it as much as me; he didn't have it so bad. But then, he was far better at playing normal. Far better at handling social situations where you had to interact with _people_.

I wasn't so lucky.

Some people classed me as anti-social. They would be wrong. I was a socially awkward teenager who was battling both anxiety and slight depression – mild enough not to be put on medication, but still there nonetheless – whilst facing, what felt like, a whole world that was against him. Now, try dealing with that whilst being in an unloving and abusive home, where your parents have openly admitted that you were in fact: a mistake, unwanted, a disappointment, a freak – as well as many others. Plus the fact that they wish they had the abortion after all instead of hoping for a ' _normal_ ' child.

Many would think it spectacularly ' _dick-ish_ ' of me to hate having a ' _perfect_ ' life, but that was because they didn't know. They just saw the money and the things and immediately connected that to happier and better. But, truth to the matter was, I would have rather been poor with parents that wanted and loved me, than be rich with parents that wished I was dead.

Mycroft and I were the only ones that knew of our parents attitudes towards us. No one besides us knew how they could get. We hadn't had the courage to tell anyone, in fear of what would happen if our parents ever found out. Of course, Mycroft never had to worry about that once he turned eleven. The Mycroft I knew and loved vanished, leaving behind the brat he was today – someone just like Mother and Father, only without the physical harm to others.

I was alone.

Sighing, I opened my eyes to star up at the clear sky, looking at it in all its perfection. Sometimes I wished that some of those programmes on TV were true – that maybe there _was_ a mad man who travelled through time and space in a box called a TARDIS... At least then I would be able to get away.

Get away from the misery.

Get away from the loneliness.

Get away from the people that hated me.

Get away and be with the other ' _freaks_ '.

Though I doubted that there were any freaks like me out there. Mycroft was the only one I could consider being anywhere close to that – not that anyone considered him a freak. Oh no, Mycroft was the perfect child, the one that could do absolutely no wrong. The one who had the troubled brother and tried to do everything within his power to keep him in the right direction.

Sometimes I wished that people would just _observe_!

Sometimes I _wished_...

"What's the point in wishing?" I sighed to myself.

It never worked before, so why would it work now?


	4. Chapter 4

**Sherlock**

My third day in the Watson house, Mrs Hudson managed to convince me to spend some time with them all – thankfully, she stayed with us all, joining us for some tea. Instead of sitting in the living room where we would all be at least a little comfortable, we were all gathered in the kitchen, sitting at the table. Honestly, I did question the intelligence of people...

So far, it had been three and a half minutes - and counting - since we had all sat down and, still, no one had spoken. Now, don't get me wrong, I liked silence. I did some of my best work in silence... But when I was told I had to be in a situation where people would talk, I expected them to talk.

But I said nothing. I sat there quietly, waiting for someone to get the ball rolling.

In my head, as I waited, I started to compose another piece for my violin. It was easy to do - all the sounds were safely stored in my Mind Palace for easy access, so I could compose on the go. It was extremely useful when it came to tedious social interactions that my parents forced me into. Sometimes I would compose, other times I would open the door to pieces I had already learnt - or even songs that I just liked that weren't for the violin - and play them through my head. It was relaxing - it helped me cope. Of course, my parents would always notice that I wasn't giving the situation my one hundred per cent attention and I would pay for it, once we were home alone. I shuddered lightly as the music continued to play in my head, the delightful sounds starting to fade as memories of what my parents thought was suitable punishment flooded my mind.

I barely noted the change in my breathing pattern, it was that slight. Not until a hand landed lightly on my arm, causing me to jerk violently and almost topple out of the chair. Mrs Hudson had been the one to touch my arm, being the only person to be able to identify any change in my behaviour. She was good at noticing things like that. The woman gave me a small smile, pushing my tea a little closer to me as she rubbed my arm lightly... Sometimes I wished Mrs Hudson had been my mother.

"So, Sherlock, are you looking forward to starting year twelve?" Mr Watson asked, a warm smile on his face.

_They don't know..._

"I won't be in year twelve, I'll be in the year above." I sighed. "My IQ is far higher than those at the school, including the teachers. I _would_ be starting University come September, but my parents refused to let me..."

"So you're in Johnny's year?" Harriet questioned, gesturing to her younger brother.

I simply nodded, picking up and taking a sip from the mug of tea in front of me. Honestly, I thought they would have known. When Mother and Father first brought me to the house, when they were trying to convince the Watsons that I was something that they _obviously_ didn't think I was, I would have thought they'd have pretended to boast about my skipping a school year. Apparently not, though.

"Well, isn't that amazing." Mrs Watson gushed.

At least _someone_ thought so.

* * *

I had to endure many questions - what I liked, what I didn't like, what I liked to do, what my favourite lesson was... I had sat there for over an hour answering endless questions and I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I wasn't used to people taking so much interest in me. I wasn't used to people actually wanting to know. I was used to being ignored, unless I had done something wrong.

I had tried countless times to try and leave the conversation, trying to put an end to it... Apparently I was far too subtle in my attempts. It was getting a little heard to breathe and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. My hands wouldn't stop shaking, my palms sweating profusely... I hated when my anxiety acted up. I clenched my jaw, starting straight at the table top, curling my hands into fists, hoping that I could get some control over what was happening. Not that it ever worked. It never worked.

In the end, I just walked out.

I knew that could be risky. They could react exactly like my parents - lock me in the dark room... But I had to do _something_. I couldn't stay there and have so many questions thrown at me.

I would have gone upstairs, but I knew that would be the first place they would look for me and the living room was out of the question. There weren't many places for me to go inside the house, so outside in the gardens was the only other choice. I went to a different spot compared to the one before, finding myself surrounded by groups of flowers. The flowerbeds surrounded a small, beautiful fountain reminiscent to a waterfall. My parents didn't have a fountain at their place, always muttering something about them being tacky and hideous. Like many things, I disagreed with them. Yes some were far too extravagant, but some, like the ones the Watsons owned, were really quite lovely.

Slowly, I laid down by the edge of the fountain, watching the water as it fell, listening to the calming sounds. The weather was still fantastic - hot and sunny, quite perfect - so I didn't have to worry about a sudden shower of rain, unlike any other day. Something about being outside always seemed to calm me - something about the tranquillity. It was nice. I let my eyes close softly as I lay there, just listening to the water beside me and the birds above me. I couldn't understand how it could be so calm and quiet, I couldn't understand how it was so soothing... It was frustrating beyond belief - I was supposed to know _everything_...

Sighing, I tried to think of something else, something... _happy_. There weren't many things that actually made me feel that emotion, so many things that I had yet to experience to know what emotion it would cause. Honestly, I didn't know if I could actually feel that emotion.

Huh, I really was a freak.

I couldn't for the life of me tell you how long I was lying there for. I could get so lost in my own head that a whole day could go by without my knowing. But I knew that a large amount of time had to have past, considering I could hear the footfalls of someone approaching me. The footsteps were inconsistent, immediately letting me know that John had found me - he was easy to identify, what with the cane and the psychosomatic limp. The seventeen year old stopped near me, sitting down on the edge of the fountain, not making a noise or moving towards me at all. I just lay there in silence for a while longer.

"I'm not good with people." I ended up saying after a few moments. "I can't seem to handle them very well, nor them me. I'm don't handle being questioned very well, especially about myself. I don't know what it's like to have a friend, I don't know what it's like to have people that are actually interested in learning about me, so you must excuse how I deal with it."

I couldn't understand why I was explaining myself to John. I had never done that before - not that anyone would have cared... I couldn't understand why I felt the need to now... But John - John seemed different. He hadn't shied away when I first made my deductions, he had marvelled in them. At school, he was the only one that had yet to call me a freak, not that he had really interacted with me, but still... From what I knew of the young Watson, he was unlike all the other ' _goldfish_ ' - as my brother called normal people - in the world.

"It's fine, I tend to be the same with people asking questions about me. Bit strange, you know?" John agreed, his tone soft. "I don't blame you, and I think mum and dad understand they went a bit overboard. Just... You _can_ ask them to stop, you know that right? They'll understand if you want them to stop."

These people were increasingly annoying. Anything I assumed they would be like - based on my deductions from my parents' other acquaintances - were totally wrong. The Watsons were the complete opposite of my parents and the other people they knew... It was a little disconcerting, yet...refreshing. I couldn't understand it and it was terrifying.

But maybe that was...good?

* * *

John and I spent some time outside by that fountain, the youngest Watson leading the conversation and taking care not to ask too many questions. It was... _nice_.

John told me how the scar on his left shoulder was caused when friend's of his parents came to the house last summer, John's father and his friend going hunting - not that Mr Watson liked doing such a thing. John hadn't known about this, taking to walking around the wooded area near his house... Unfortunately, Mr Watson's friend saw movement and mistook John for an animal, pulling the trigger. The scream that came with John being hit was the only reason they knew it was his and not an animal. The surgery had gone well, though he had lost a lot of blood - the only thing left now was a memory and a ' _bloody nasty scar_ '. The limp had come shortly after the incident.

During the retelling, I had shifted from lying on to grass to sitting opposite the seventeen year old, for once in my life listening intently to someone else.

"Can't play rugby anymore, but I make do." he smiled.

"You are strangely optimistic." I mused.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Bit of both."

John's smile must have been infectious. I couldn't even remember the last time I smiled, but he seemed to bring it out in my easily.

"So, how come I never really see you around school?" John asked, frowning slightly. "I see you in lessons, sure, but never anywhere else."

"I spend most of my time in the labs or in the library." I shrugged. "No one likes me, I don't like anyone, so I keep myself to myself. It's... _safe_."

"Mind if I join you some time? I need a little help in Chemistry so, maybe, if you don't mind, you could explain a few things to me? Our teacher is great, don't get me wrong, but his explanations are..."

"I would not mind. Though I could easily help you here..."

"I know. But it helps that the labs at school have _everything_ we would need."

Now, don't ask me why I agreed so quickly to help John. I wasn't that kind of person and I barely knew the younger Watson. But there was something about him, something that I couldn't put my finger on, that was different. He was different compared to everyone else. Different in a way that, maybe, possibly, _hopefully_ , could mean that for once I could have...a _friend_.

I hadn't had a friend since I had lost Mycroft. I hadn't had a friend since Father put a bullet through Redbeard's head. Maybe John Watson could be my friend...


	5. Three Months Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG - WRITERS BLOCK AND COLLEGE AND I'VE NOW BEEN TOLD I HAVE ANXIETY - possible depression - AND I'VE ACTUALLY STARTED TO HAVE PANIC ATTACKS!! IT'S BEEN CRAZY, BUT HERE WE GO ^_^

**Chapter 5**

**Sherlock**

_**3 MONTHS LATER - November 2014** _

Within the few short months I had been living in the house, I had been convinced to put my name onto my bedroom door, just like John and Harry. Mr Watson had even taken the time to carve my name out of bits of wood in his workshop. He had made the letters up before I had even agreed, telling me that he knew they'd win me over some day whilst patting me on my shoulder. All I had to do was tell them the colour I wanted.

I was still trying to get used to the affection. The gentleness of the family. I still couldn't work out _why_ \- it made me start to question everything I knew. I noted how the Watsons, unlike some, were a very close family - the children and parents had good, strong relationships; there was a lot of trust placed in each other... It was strange. Was that how a family supposed to be? Or were they the exception?

"Come _on_ , Sherlock!" Harry whined, leaning over the back of the armchair I sat in. "Just tell us your favourite colour!"

"I don't see how that has any relevance." I muttered, plucking the strings of my violin.

"So your name can be painted the right colour!"

"This is completely ridiculous."

The young woman came around to stand in front of me, arms folded and glaring at me. Compared to my parents, she was like a bloody kitten! I snorted lightly as I rose my bow, gliding it across the strings as the muscle memory in my fingers formed the chords.

"Tell dad to pain them purple." John sighed, rolling his eyes as he wandered into the living room with a cup of tea.

The day I had agreed to tutor him in Chemistry was the day John Watson could walk without a cane. We had spoken some more - John telling me about his childhood, when I asked, as well as random little things we both found interest in - when my watch beeped. Frantically, I had ran back into the house and up the stairs, John behind me, as I raced to my room, to where my experiments were. John had looked relieved when he realised that is was nothing fatal that had me running and, surprisingly, actually looked rather interested in my experiments. Of course, it was after he had calmed his speeding heart that he realised he didn't have his cane with him. In a matter of days - technically, hours - I had managed to rid John of the cane he didn't need, as well as his psychosomatic limp - something his therapist had failed to do in the two years, three months, one week and five days John had been going to her.

He hadn't used it since.

"Purple?" Harry frowned, turning to face her younger brother.

"Yeah, purple." John nodded, placing his cup on the table and collapsing into his chair. "It's his favourite colour."

"And how, pray tell, do you know that?" I asked, an eyebrow raised as I glanced at him.

John stared straight at me, returning the look I was giving him, taking his cup from the table and sipping the contents.

"Well, it is, isn't it?" he asked, shrugging.

"Yes, it is." I nodded. "But how did you _know_?"

"You painted the walls of your bedroom purple, your music stand is purple, you have a purple shirt and I'm pretty sure I saw purple jeans, you have a purple personalised mug, _and_ Mrs Hudson told me this morning, even though I already knew."

"The only valid evidence you have is Mrs Hudson telling you. Your observations just concluded that I like purple and have a lot of it. I also have a lot of black, does that make it my favourite colour? Well, no, it's not a colour, it's a shade, but you see my point. You guessed, you didn't deduce."

"Don't care, I still worked it out."

And he was the only one that ever had.

By the time I went to my room that evening, the door was adorned with my name in purple. I couldn't help but feel a little... _warm_ at the sight of it. I couldn't understand how the Watsons could accept me so easily - accept me when my own parents couldn't. I just couldn't work it out. It was one of the mysteries that I hadn't been able to work out and, to be honest, I don't think I was ever going to... I just kept it as my parents hated me, plain and simple - why go into it anymore than that?

* * *

**John**

It was, around, midnight that I heard it. I didn't know what it was, but it was enough to wake me up - I had always been a light sleeper, though I was sure Harry could sleep through an air raid. I sat in silence for a while, trying to see if I could hear the sound again, see if I could tell where it was coming from.

But I heard nothing.

I laid back against my pillows again, shifting slightly to get comfortable. As soon as I closed my eyes, I heard it again. It had been louder this time - a sort of muffled cry, like someone was trying to stay as quiet as possible. Frowning slightly, I slid out of bed, slowly walking over to my door and opening it a crack.

The noise was coming from across the hall - from Sherlock's room.

Without thinking, I shuffled across the hallway, rubbing my eyes a little. As I got closer to the door, I could hear the sound of quiet sobbing, this small heart wrenching sound of someone in pain. I knocked quietly and all sound stopped - I didn't wait for a reply, I just walked in.

The lamp next to the bed was turned on, casting a dim light on the figure sitting on the bed. Well, I say sitting, he was more curled in on himself. Sherlock sat there, back pressed against the pillows, knees to his chest, arms folded on top of him, hair sticking out every which way, tears rolling down his cheeks. He looked far younger than sixteen as he stared at me with wide, watery eyes. I had never seen him cry and I wished I never had. As the silence stretched on between us, a fresh wave of tears started, the boy on the bed seemingly unable to stop them as he turned his face back into his arms. Without thinking, I moved towards the bed, not stopping until I climbed on and was sitting next to him, my arms around the shaking ball of human. Sherlock flinched as he felt my arms around him, cowering away slightly and crying a little harder - I didn't let go, I kept my arms around him, whispering to him to try and calm him down.

I thought he would have pushed me off.

I thought he would have yelled at me for invading his space.

I knew he didn't like to be touched, almost like it overwhelmed him - so I thought he would try harder to get away.

But he didn't Sherlock just sat there, leaning into my touch, turning into me as we sat there. His skin was damp, a light sweat covering his face and neck, making his hair stick to his skin. It didn't seem to bother him, but it clued me into what happened - he had a nightmare. I didn't think many sixteen year olds would have, let alone be frightened, of anything they dreamt. I didn't think Sherlock would be... But I had witnessed his mind and what it could do. I knew that it held a lot it there. I knew how he was treated at school, I could see the coldness from his family. Had his parents done something to him? Done something to make him this frightened? Or was it simply the scenarios his mind could create that scared him? I didn't know, and I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to.

* * *

It took, about, an hour for Sherlock to calm down - the sobs quieting down to whimpers, his shaking stopping completely. I still kept my arms around my friend, not entirely sure why I was so comfortable with the contact. I wanted to say something, say something that could ease the tension. But only one thing came to mind.

"Want me to tuck you in and tell you a story?" I asked, lightly, trying to convey the joke.

He didn't laugh.

"Why would you do that?" he asked, quietly, his voice cracking and rough.

"Well, it's what a mum does, you know?" I told him - _did he really not know?_

"It is?"

"Yeah... Didn't your mum ever do that for you? Your dad? Brother?"

All it got me was a hesitant shake of his head, his body hunching further into itself. I winced slightly, not knowing entirely what I was supposed to do at that moment. Was I supposed to stay? Ask him what the dream was about? I had never been on this side of the situation!

"I should probably go. Let you sleep..." I muttered, giving his shoulder a small squeeze before I slipped off of his bed.

I had only just gotten to the door when he spoke.

"Wait, John!" Sherlock called, softly, still in his huddled position, his head up and facing me.

"What is it?" I asked, glancing back to the door.

Sherlock opened his mouth, intent on saying something. But no words came out. He stopped himself before they could, his mouth closing and his teeth pressing down into the flesh of his lower lip.

"N-Never mind." he whispered, sounding almost defeated. "I-It was nothing."

"Alright... Night Sherlock." I replied, slipping out of the door as quickly as I could and back into my own room.

It wasn't until the door to my room had closed that I understood. In my mind's eye, all I could see was Sherlock sitting on his bed, his eyes looking so hopeful as he tried to say something. How could I not understand? How could I not realise that he was asking me to stay? Trying to say that he didn't want to be alone? How could I have been so _stupid_?

Turning around, I marched myself straight back to Sherlock's room.

* * *

**Sherlock**

I startled slightly as my door opened again, John walking determinedly back into my room. With the door shut softly behind him, the now-eighteen year old - his birthday being in September - climbed onto my bed, getting me to lie down before bringing the covers up over both of us. I just stared at him, wondering what he was doing and why he was doing it.

I just couldn't understand! Was he trying to comfort me like before? Was he doing it because he had to? Or was it because he wanted to? I didn't know and it frustrated me! Frustrated me that I couldn't understand something that was, obviously, part of any other child's everyday life.

John lay down next to me, on his side and facing me, his hand under his head. He smiled softly, pulling the duvet up a little higher, until they were under my chin. Was this normal friend behaviour?

"Why?" was all I asked.

"You're my friend and you're upset." he shrugged. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Is it normal?"

"Does it matter?"

Did it? Did it matter? I didn't know, that had been why I had asked! I was going to reply with that, until I looked into John's eyes. He seemed worried, _concerned_ , but also a little understanding. How could he? How could he look understanding, like he _knew_ why I had dreamt. He didn't know!

He didn't know what it was like to hide in a place you were supposed to call home.

He didn't know what it was like to be abused by your parents.

He didn't know what it was like to be unloved.

He didn't know what it was like to be wished dead.

He didn't know what it was like to be held underwater, being almost drowned by someone that was supposed to love you.

He didn't know what it was like to be hated by everyone.

He didn't know what it was like to be called a freak.

He didn't know what it was like to take a blade to your own skin - I could tell.

He didn't know what it was like to look at a blade, pills, a gun, a building - _anything_ \- and just want to end it all.

So how could he look like he understood? Look like he knew what was going on in my head, when he didn't know anything that had gone on, or what any of that felt like.

I felt a hand on my arm, through the duvet, the pressure snapping me back to the present. John was still there with a small smile on his face, his thumb lightly brushing against my cheek - light enough to be unintentional.

"So, you want that story?" he asked, a genuine question that promised no ridicule with my answer.

Slowly, hesitantly, I nodded - I had never had this experience before and I needed _something_ to distract me.

"Ever heard of _How to Train Your Dragon_?" John wondered, hopefully.

I shook my head, frowning slightly.

"Remind me to show you the movie!" he grinned before launching into the story, his voice soft and strangely calming.

I fell asleep, around, half way through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG - WRITERS BLOCK AND COLLEGE AND I'VE NOW BEEN TOLD I HAVE ANXIETY - possible depression - AND I'VE ACTUALLY STARTED TO HAVE PANIC ATTACKS!! IT'S BEEN CRAZY, BUT HERE WE GO ^_^  
> Please review XD  
> Thanks XD


	6. Chapter 6

**Sherlock**

Every night, John would wait a few hours, until everyone was asleep, before sneaking into my room a doing the whole tuck-in-story routine. It quickly became the only way to get me to sleep, even if he was just simply talking about his day. In the morning, I would wake up to find John already awake, but still in the bed, asking if I was alright before leaving to go back to his room.

That was the part I hated about our newfound routine.

As soon as John left my room, he would treat me a little differently. At the house, it wasn't so bad. During school? During school if there were any comments made about he and I, John would be very quick with the his usual ' _I'm-not-gay_ ' or ' _we-are-not-a-couple_ '. It was... _frustrating_.

Now, yes, I did remember that I was the one to say I wanted no relationship with John on the day I moved in, but that had all changed. I had thought I had changed my mind only recently, only when he first came into my room after my nightmare. No. I had realised, once I had accepted it all, that I had actually been slowly falling for John Hamish Watson. He was different from everyone else, he was the first one to praise me for my intellect straight away and not be frightened of it. John was the first friend I had ever acquired. At first I wondered if that was it; wondered if what I was feeling was only friendship. However, after countless hours of visually studying the interaction between people who considered themselves friends, I realised that, no, it was friendship. I had debated asking John - Mrs Hudson and Harry too - but, I suppose, that would have been classed as ' _not good_ '.

It was all very new and strange.

Relationships, no matter the type, were not my strong point. My relationship with Mycroft broke down, I never had a relationship with my parents, my relationship with my dog ended after my father shot him, I never had friends before John... Mrs Hudson was the only person I had ever had any type of relationship with, but that didn't tell me a lot. There was so much I didn't understand about it all. It was confusing.

It was confusing as to why I felt this pull towards John.

It was confusing why I found myself looking forward to going to bed.

It was confusing why John had pulled away from me and was acting so strangely.

It was just confusing and I didn't know what to do.

* * *

The days passed and, soon, we had slipped into December. We were only a few weeks away until the holidays, meaning it was only a few weeks away until I spent my first Christmas away from my family. Mrs Hudson had reminded me about presents, explaining to me that, yes, the Watson's _do_ celebrate the holidays - including birthdays. It would be a first for me, that was for sure, but I did find a certain pleasure in finding gifts for people.

It had started off as a normal Saturday - I had gone outside to the gardens, something that I found myself doing if I ever needed to be by myself and think. It was cold but it wasn't warm either, just that weird in between. I had forgone a coat, simply slipping on a cardigan John had given to me during my first few weeks at the house, the fabric thick enough to fight off the chill but not bake me. I couldn't say how long I had been sitting by the fountain, staring at anything and everything, but the sun _had_ rose considerably.

I had walked inside, stretching my arms out to hear them give a satisfying crack, when I heard the voice. I had heard the voice far too many times to not recognise it. At the sound of it, my back straightened, jaw tightening, the facade that I had started to break down over the three months of my living with the Watson's quickly flying back to the surface. I didn't want it to, I also didn't want to walk through the living room, but I had to if I wanted to grab my notebook before going to my room.

Walking into the living room, I found four people - John, Harry, Gregory Lestrade and Mycroft.

 _Mycroft_.

Now, don't get me wrong, John warned me there would be more people in the house than usual that day, telling me his ' _mate_ ' Greg was coming around with his ' _partner_ '. I just didn't realise John's ' _mate_ _Greg_ ' was _Mycroft's_ _Gregory_!

This was already a disaster.

Taking a breath, I walked into the living room, not paying the group any attention, hopping to get in and out without any problem.

"How nice of you to join us, _Sherly_." Mycroft's voice boomed from across the room.

"Yes, hello Mycroft." I sighed. "How's the _diet_ going?"

Turning to face my older brother, I found that the smug look that had, no doubt, been on his face, had dropped. The fake pleasantness had disappeared, back in place was the cold shell of my brother.

"Obviously it's not going well - even from here I can smell grease from the full English you had this morning." I glared. "And you're teeth are sticking from the two - _no, three_ \- shortbread biscuits. Honestly, have you no self-control?"

"At least my manors are far better than yours, brother." Mycroft shrugged, trying to gain some dignity. "Surely acting your age would be more desirable than acting like a five year old."

"Maybe we should all calm down, yeah?" Gregory interrupted, as he gently tugged my brother closer to his side, whispering something in his ear.

Growling quietly under my breath, I seized the opportunity to grab my notebook and make my leave. I was so close, so close to making it out of the door and to the stairs.

"You really should change yourself, Sherlock." Mycroft called after me. "Maybe then they'll like you."

And that hit a nerve.

"Don't you _dare_ tell me to change myself! If you lot don't like me how I am, how the _fuck_ is that my fault, huh? People should like me for me, not an act _they_ want me to put on!" I yelled. "I thought you of all people would understand, but no! Why would you? You always had it easier than I did - Mummy and Daddy's golden child, the perfect son! You have _no idea_ what it was like!"

"Sherlock, you're being melodramatic again." Mycroft said, airily, fooling everyone but me that he was uncomfortable with the situation.

"No I'm not! You know that there is truth behind what I'm saying. You abandoned me and left me to deal with that all on my own, all so you could play favourite, just so they would stop doing it to you! You are no brother of mine!"

Storming out of the room and up the stairs, I refused to believe that my tears were from the hurt and the pain. They were simply due to frustration - I just had so much anger that this was the only way I could get some of it out of my system. It had nothing to do with how much it hurt to have my big brother be so cold to me, no not at all.

Ok, yeah, even I knew that wouldn't fool anybody.

* * *

Twenty seven minutes and thirty six point nine seconds later, there was a knock at my door. I didn't get up off of the bed to answer it, I didn't shout for whoever it was to come in - I just laid there, cocooned in my duvet of misery and self-pity. The door, however, opened anyway. It was opened and shut softly, as if the person thought any loud noises would set something off in me. That seemed to be everyone's default when someone was upset - do everything as quietly and softly as possible. I didn't get _why_.

As the mattress behind me dipped, I felt slightly muscled arms wrap around me as a body settled on the bed, pulling me back towards them. This wasn't normal behaviour for people who were supposed to be friends, that much I could tell... But it just felt so nice...

"I'm sorry." John whispered. "I completely forgot that he was your brother, I... I wasn't thinking."

"Not your fault" I croaked, sniffling slightly.

And it wasn't. John had no idea what to expect - Mycroft and I didn't even speak when we were in front of the Watson's when I first came to live with them.

"I still feel responsible. He had no right to say that to you - mum loves you; dad thinks you're great; Harry, ever since she got over the shock of you deducing her, always says you're her favourite person in the house; you're my best friend..." John told me. "You don't need to do anything for us to like you and there's nothing you need to change. You're great the way you are."

"Whilst I thank you for your kind words, I must disagree with your last statement." I huffed. "I am not ' _great_ ' like this."

But John was having none of it. For, around, half an hour we went back and forth, arguing over that one little comment. We both kept going on and on and on, until he moved me around to face him, moving one hand to gently cover my mouth.

"Now you listen up, Sherlock Holmes. Whilst I agree that no one's perfect and there's probably a few things the best of people could change about themselves, I am telling you now that I like you the way you are." John growled. "I don't know what kind of shit's happened to you to make you think otherwise, I don't know what's gone on with you and your brother, but you need to realise just how brilliant you are."

John didn't move his hand until he was certain I wasn't going to argue. He didn't get up and leave like I thought he would, he just settled down again and hugged me. I had rarely felt the sensation of being hugged - never by my parents, a few times when I was younger by Mycroft and a few times by Mrs Hudson. The feeling of being held was...strange, but I kind of liked it.

* * *

**John**

Sherlock didn't come down for dinner. It was the only time that I had actually left him. I would have gone straight back upstairs with a couple of plates of food, but I didn't think Sherlock wanted me there at that time.

The thing was, Sherlock and I had talked a little about life before he came to live with us. He didn't go into detail, a lot of what he told me was just about him and Mycroft when they used to get a long - I was curious as to what had happened to change that. He told me about a few things he remembered doing and I couldn't help but notice the signs. Wanting to be a doctor, I had read about a lot different illnesses and behavioural/learning disabilities and everything of the sort... So, of course, I asked if he had ADHD or some form of autism - possibly both.

He completely flipped out on my, yelling that he had nothing of the sort.

I know some people don't take well to being asked that sort of thing, don't like having to think there's something ' _wrong_ ' with them. I didn't see it as something being ' _wrong_ ', I saw it as something that made that person just a little more unique. I guess Sherlock didn't see it like that...

I didn't understand him, I honestly didn't. So I called the only person that knew what it was like to deal with a Holmes - Greg.

I didn't bother trying to delay the question, just jumping straight into it after exchanging pleasantries. Greg understood, of course. He even told me, when he realised the younger Holmes was being ' _paired_ ' with me, that I could call any time - though, to be truthful, this was the first time I had called.

" _Yeah, I know the issue here... My and Sherlock had a bit of a rough patch when they were kids-_ " he started.

"A bit is kind of an understatement there, mate." I interrupted.

" _Yeah, yeah, can I speak? Look, all I know about this is My would...torment the kid about those kinds of things, you know? My had nightmares for_ a long _time about it all... Sherlock doesn't take well to being talked to about it._ "

"Kind of figured that bit out for myself... Has he ever been, I dunno, tested for anything?"

" _Never. I don't know how much he's told you, but their parents aren't the nicest people around. He'll tell you in his own time and when he does, expect the worst. Just...take it easy when talking to him about this._ "

"Cheers, Greg."

" _Anytime._ "

I couldn't understand how someone could end up being so cruel to their sibling that they reacted so badly to just one simple question.

I couldn't understand what could have pushed someone to the point of torturing their sibling, so they think their disability - though I do hate that word - is something to be ashamed of.

I just couldn't understand it.

* * *

**Sherlock**

I didn't think John would turn up again. I realised that yelling at someone, especially a friend, was considered a bit not good, but I couldn't control my reaction. It was like something you were so passionate about and someone putting it down - you defend it. I just happen to become protective of myself when someone tells me there is something wrong with my brain. Just like Mycroft did.

But he came back just over two hours after he had left.

I suppose I should have expected John to be a little freaked out after seeing the skull.

"Oh, calm down. It's only Yorick." I mumbled, placing the skull back on my bedside table.

"Where the _hell_ did you get a skull?!" John shrieked.

"A thank you, from Graham's father. I solved a case for them."

"Who's Grah- You mean Greg? Yeah, he said you'd do that."

I shrugged, staring down at the duvet, picking at it slightly. I was too tired to argue anymore, I didn't want to argue anymore...

"You solved a case for Scotland Yard?" John asked, surprised.

"Many, actually. It was an accident, on their part, at first, now they bring me in when they work themselves into a corner. Those on top look over the fact that I'm still, in the eyes of the law, a child - they like the fact that they can lock up those that deserve it, even if it means getting a child to help and keeping it out of the media." I explained. "Yorick was a thank you - we had just wrapped up a six year long case, very intriguing but easier than I expected. It's not even a real skull."

"Would have been nice if you mentioned it wasn't real first!"

Again, I just shrugged.

My room was plunged into silence and John took that moment to walk further in. I could hear his steps, could judge how far away he was, yet it still surprised me when he sat directly next to me .

"I'm sorry. About earlier." John sighed. "You realise there's nothing bad about it, right?"

"Yes there is and there is _nothing_ wrong with my mind!" I growled.

"Sherlock, having something like ADHD isn't bad. Nothing like that is bad. Harry's dyslexic, is that a bad thing?"

"Well, no, bu-"

"So there's nothing wrong with you having ADHD, autism or the like. Having it won't define you, but it might help you understand why you do certain things. I don't know what your parents or your brother said or did to you, but there is _nothing_ wrong with any of it. It's fine, it's _all_ fine. And, if you wanna get it checked out, I'll go with you."

Finally looking up at the eighteen year old beside me, all I could see in his eyes was sincerity. No deception, nothing. Just plain old sincerity. He truly believed in what he said, he truly believe that it meant that having some ' _mental problem_ ' wasn't a bad thing.

But what if I was reading him wrong? What if I just wanted to believe it so much that my own wants were clouding my judgement? I had already gotten closer to John than I first wanted to - what if that was the plan?

But my brain had never failed me before.

"I'll think about getting it checked out." I whispered, looking back down into my lap.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see John grin. The young Watson stayed sitting for a moment longer before placing his hand on my shoulder and getting up, saying he would see me later. I think I surprised both of us by what I did next.

"John! C-Could you stay? J-Just for a little longer?" I stuttered. "Please?"

All John did was smile, jumping back onto the bed, next to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please review XD
> 
> Thank you so much everyone XD


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Sherlock**

It was Christmas Eve when my ' _parents_ ' and Mycroft turned up at the door.

Mrs Watson had informed me of this the day prior, a grin on her face. None of them knew anything about my parents, so, of course, they would believe they were lovely people. So many people fell for their charm!

With only a day to prepare for their visit, I knew I would be able to provide a plausible reason for not being in the house - let alone finding somewhere else to go to wait out the intrusion. Do I had to endure it.

_Fucking great..._

They arrived at two in the afternoon - not a minute early, not a minute late.

Mother and Father were dressed impeccably, not even a hair out of place. Mycroft was, of course, dressed to the same standards, obviously not wanting to disobey _Mummy and Daddy_. The Watsons dressed _far_ more casually, not highlighting the fact that they had the money to waste on clothes - I didn't see why my parents needed top of the range, designer _anything_!

I, on the other hand, had refused to get dressed.

I had been laying across the armchair - something that had been dubbed ' _my_ ' armchair - my head and legs dangling off either side, dressed in old, ratty pyjamas and a navy blue, silk dressing gown.

It hadn't been my _intention_ to anger my parents by doing this - I had just been lying there, thinking to myself and letting my mind wander... But I could see the fire blazing in their eyes, could see how much they wanted to hit out at me - to _discipline_ me - for being so insolent.

They didn't _dare_ in front of the Watsons.

Mother feigned a smile, as she pretended to take an interest in what had been happening.

Father feigned a proud grin, as he heard of things I had done.

Mycroft didn't do anything, just sat there and listened to everything that was being said, occasionally glancing at me with icy eyes.

I was already hating the day.

* * *

I had managed to slip away into the kitchen, but only when they had all been busy. I was sure none of them saw me leave - I _hoped_ none of them saw me leave...

It was quiet in the kitchen, peaceful. Yes, I could hear the muffled voices through the wall, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Breathing a sigh of relief, I slumped into one of the chairs, resting my head on my folded arms and closing my eyes for a moment. I couldn't understand why Mother and Father felt like they needed to intrude - they had waited sixteen years to get rid of me, why would they want to come and visit? Surely they had better things to do than interrupt my life!

I couldn't have been in the room for more the three minutes when the door opened, closing quietly behind whoever had come in. It wasn't any of the Watsons - I had their walking patterns memorized. It wasn't Mother, nor Father. It wasn't Mrs Hudson.

 _Mycroft_.

I should have known, out of all of them, Mycroft would have been the first to notice my absence.

"Honestly, Brother Mine, you are _far_ too old to be hiding." Mycroft snorted, taking a seat from the table across from me. "I'm surprised you even attempted leaving - not to mention wearing... _that_."

"What do you want?" I growled, lifting my head until my chin rested on my arms, glaring at him. "I am in no mood to deal with the likes of you."

As Mycroft leaned back in the chair, he folded his arms and crossed him legs, raising an eyebrow slightly. He just watched me for a moment and, as _I_ watched _him_ , I saw this faint glimmer in his eyes. It was gone as soon as I saw it - I couldn't identify it fast enough - but it was different from the icy look I would usually get from my estranged older brother.

"You need to stop living in the past, Sherlock. You need to just erase what happened." Mycroft sighed. "It makes everything so much easier."

"You want me to forget?! To let them think they can get away with it?!" I hissed as quietly as I could. "How could you _say_ that! After _everything_ they put us through!"

"Pushing that aside and acting how they want is the best way to g-"

"No it's not! That is the _cowards_ way out!"

"I suggest you do as I say, Sherlock - you know what happened to _The Other One_."

I saw red, standing up from the table so fast that the chair crashed to the ground, my hands slamming down onto the table top. In any other situation, I would have laughed at the way Mycroft startled, jumping and almost falling out of his seat.

But I couldn't laugh.

How could he just sit there and not use his name? To call him ' _The Other One_ '?

How could he just sit there and be fine with it all?

How could he just sit there and be so calm after what happened?

It made me blood boil.

"He has a name!" I screeched. "How could call him that?! How can you sit there and brush it all off!"

I didn't realise my voice had rose until everyone came running through the door. They first looked at Mycroft, finding him paralysed in his seat, eyes wide. They looked to me next - I had no idea what they saw.

"Sherlock... You're hysterical." Mycroft whispered.

" _Shut up_! Just _shut up_!" I yelled, my hands flying to my hair, gripping tightly as I clenched my eyes shut. "You're just as bad as all of them! How _could_ you!"

I couldn't control myself, yelling out at my brother, a lot of it gibberish. The tugging at my hair became harsher; I could feel the strands being yanked out...

I didn't remember a lot after that.

* * *

Mother and Father had left quickly after that, Gregory showing up to take Mycroft home. Not that I cared much.

I had found myself in the garden, next to the fountain, curled up with my knees hugged tight to my chest, just staring into the water rippling in the winter breeze. I was just sitting there, tear tracks already dry on my face; my head still hurt, almost pounding from how much I had grabbed at my hair...

I hadn't been like that in years.

But he - the one Mycroft referred to as ' _The Other One_ ' - was, apparently, one of my triggers.

I just sat there, thinking about nothing, watching the water. I needed to calm down and that was the way to do it.

Of course, I wasn't left alone for long.

John appeared by my side under an hour after I had ran to the fountain, sitting down next to me. He put my Belstaff coat around my shoulders, placing a scarf around my neck and handed me a pair of gloves. I took them without looking at him, pulling the fabric onto my hands, the cold appendages grateful for the slight warmth.

"I apologise for my behaviour... I also apologise for whatever discomfort I brought to you and your family." I whispered, turning my head down slightly. "It will not happen again."

John's arm was around my shoulders in an instant, far closer than necessary for the gesture.

"Don't say that. If it happens again, then it happens again - it's one of those things. We just need to identify what sets you off like that and try our best to avoid them." John told me. "And you don't have to be sorry. It's obvious Mycroft did, or said, _something_ stupid to get you like that. It wasn't your fault."

I didn't argue with the youngest Watson, I only huddled closer as I felt the cold wind stab me, moving until I got my arms through the sleeves of my coat - I had learnt not to argue with John when it came to matters such as these.

"Do you want to talk about it?" John asked, cautiously. "Maybe not about all of it - I get it, we've only known each other for almost four months, you might not be that comfortable with that yet... But, if you want talk about a little bit...?"

For the first time since he had joined me outside, I glanced up at the blond sitting next to me. John Watson truly was a special person - not dull, not completely stupid, kind... John was completely different to the majority of the population...and he wanted to _know_.

He wanted to know, though I was sure he had some idea of what my parents did.

He wanted to know, not for blackmail, but so he could help.

He wanted to know _me_.

"You are right when you say Mycroft said something to get me into such a state." I sighed. "He said many things that affected me, but only one really hurt me."

"You don't have to tell me what he said." John reminded me, tightening his hold on my shoulders.

"I-I know, but I want to... You see, we have an older brother - _Sherrinford_. He's twenty six now - eight years older than Mycroft, ten years older than I am. Sherri was taken away when he was eighteen and we haven't been allowed to see him - _Mummy_ and _Daddy_ refused to let us. It wasn't his fault for the way he was, it was theirs...but no one believed him. I loved Sherri, he would always protect us...or try to. Mycroft decided to bring him up in the conversation I was having with him - I would have been fine if he just _used his name_! But no. He had to go and use what _they_ call him!"

I didn't realise my hands were on their way back to my hair until John grabbed them, taking them with his as gently as he possibly could. We just sat there, my hands in John's as I tried to calm down, tried to get my breathing back to normal.

It took longer than I wanted.

* * *

John didn't ask me to explain anymore, saying that we could leave the rest until I was ready to open up about it all. I was thankful for it, knowing that he wouldn't force me to come clean about it all when I wasn't comfortable.

John even explained everything to his family, the other three Watsons not mentioning anything about it after that.

I spent the rest of the day with John, following him around the house and just sticking close to him. He didn't mind, the blond just smiling as we ' _hung out_ '.

He finally introduced me to the animated movie - _How to Train Your Dragon_ \- and, if I was being honest, I liked it. John actually sat there, quoting the dialogue under his breath, grinning the whole way through the movie. It was rather... _endearing_.

We even ended up talking more, about anything and everything... Hearing John speak about his passions and his views did nothing to curve my growing infatuation for him, if anything it only made the growth quicker. It was getting to the point where I regretted telling John that I had no interest in relationships.

But I had been back then.

I had no interest in any kind of relationship, not even a friendship. But then John bloody Watson came along and changed everything. John Watson was changing a lot about me, slowly breaking down the walls that I had built around myself.

I had been screwed the moment I had met the eighteen year old.

"John?" I muttered as another movie rolled through its credits

"Hm?" John hummed, tilting his head slightly towards me.

"I-I think you were right - about me getting checked out."

John's head snapped round so fast I thought he would get whiplash. His eyes had widened a little, shock colouring his expression.

"I would appreciate it if you would accompany me, if you wouldn't mind." I continued. "Today's events, as well as thinking about my eldest brother, have pushed me to believing it would be the best course of action."

I sounded far more formal than I wanted to, but I couldn't help it. I was nervous. I had never asked a person for their help before, not since I was left to fend for myself. It was difficult.

"I'll ring them tomorrow, yeah?" John said with a small, reassuring smile. "I can ask a friend's mum to see you - she won't mind me being there with you and she's as nice as anything. All you have to do is remember this is nothing bad. It makes you just that little more unique."

And that was it.

That was the entire conversation.

No ridicule.

No ' _I told you so_ '.

Nothing like that.

Just straight support.

I was sure I was a little bit _more_ than just infatuated now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE NEVER BEEN DIAGNOSED NOR HAVE BEEN PRESNT WHEN SOMEONE HAS BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH ADHD, ASPERGERS OR THE LIKE, I'M SORRY FOR ANYTHING I DID WRONG!
> 
> SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT, BUT I'VE JUST STARTED UNIVERSITY!

**Chapter 8**

**Sherlock**

John had called his friends mum a few days after he said he would - both of us had realised that Christmas was probably not the best time to make an appointment. So, only a couple of days after boxing day, John accompanied me to a Doctors Surgery.

Surprisingly, John had managed to arrange it so we would be there when it was, practically, empty. When I had asked, he told me he thought I would prefer it that way. It warmed me. We didn't have to wait too long, either, the woman calling us in only minutes after we entered.

Dr Louise Hooper was a _very_ bubbly woman. Nothing like her daughter, Molly - the two were practically identical. Whilst Molly was quite shy and nervous, Dr Hooper seemed quite outgoing and confident. It made me wonder if that was a common occurrence, for a child to be such a polar opposite to a parent. Not that I could give an accurate comparison. I didn't know Molly well. I only knew that she was part of John's friendship group, also had a knack for science, and couldn't stop staring at me... It was all rather strange, really.

The woman, as expected, greeted John with the familiarity one usually did when they knew the other person. I already knew it was going to happen, so of course it was no shock to me. The shock came when she turned that same familiar greeting onto me. I had never met the woman, nor she me. How could she be so familiar with me?

I suppose I should have been a little more... _pleasant_ , when asking just how the in the world she knew me. The woman seemed rather taken aback. I didn't really need John, at that moment, to lean over and tell me it was a bit ' _not good_ '. I had started to learn that a lot of the things I said and did were not good... Which was one of the reasons I was _there_.

I didn't apologise. My question was a valid one, though not asked in the right tone. That was probably going to be the next thing John helped me with - figuring out when I should apologise. I didn't have to wait long until Dr Hooper explained how her daughter spoke about ' _all her friends_ '. I found it funny, especially since I had had no interaction with Molly. One look from John had me holding my tongue, however.

"Well, let's get started!" she chirped.

* * *

I sprinted from the car to the house, the moment it was parked. I couldn't remember a time I had ran to my room that fast, changing into my pyjamas as soon as the door was closed. Never before had there been a time I wanted to get _into_ a house... Then again, I had never felt _safe_ in a house before this one. And that was the truth. I felt _safe_ with the Watsons. Safer than I _ever_ had felt.

This was after only four months.

Imagine how I would feel after a year!

Still, that didn't mean I would never be overwhelmed... It took a lot for me to stay in that room. If John hadn't been there, someone I trusted, I wouldn't have been able to do it. I wouldn't have been able to let that woman be able to do everything she had. I had reached my limit. I just needed to be in my own space; the place I controlled.

As soon as I had changed, I practically dived onto my bed, burying myself under the covers and creating a sort of nest. I was overwhelmed, over stimulated... I needed calm and I needed peaceful.

I needed to unwind.

It took just under fifteen minutes before there was a soft knock at my door. Fifteen minutes wasn't long enough for the unwinding or the calm or the peace. Fifteen minutes was not enough!

They didn't wait. They just walked in, softly closing the door behind them.

The first thing to hit me? The smell of hot chocolate. It had been _years_ since the last time I had had it. The last time being the day Mrs Hudson was forced to leave me. I had never found it important to learn how to make the drink, so I never taught myself... There had been many times I wished I had.

A soft thud on my bedside table alerted me to the mug being set down. I thought the person would then leave. No. They walked back around to the other side of my bed, the side I wasn't on, the mattress dipping as they sat down.

 _John._ He would be the only one that would stay.

Honestly? I think he was the only one I would _let_ stay.

"I'm proud of you." he told me, somehow not sounding condescending. "You did really well today."

Turning down the corner of my duvet, I looked up at the blond with my one uncovered eye. He was sat there, legs straight out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. He was resting against the headboard, head leant back, eyes closed, his hands wrapped around his own mug.

"I know it was hard for you to do. I remember how you reacted to all the questions Mum and Dad asked you, when you first came here. Of course today was going to be hard for you." John continued. "I was worried it would get too much for you, that it would be too much... I didn't want you to go through that; I didn't want to be part of the reason you would have had to go through that."

He didn't move at all. The entire time, he just sat completely still. He must have known I was watching him, John wasn't so stupid as not to realise... Yet, still, he made no move.

"You didn't really want to go in the first place, I get that. Certain events just pushed you into that corner, even though you were uncomfortable with it." John sighed. "You've had to deal with that too many times since you've been here and, I promise, I'll try my best to curb those situations whenever I can. Especially if it means being able to throw your brother out of my house. I've always wanted to throw someone out..."

"I doubt you could lift him up." I whispered.

Apparently, fifteen minutes and talking with John was all I needed.

* * *

What put me on edge the most, after seeing Dr Hooper, was the wait. Waiting for the ' _results_ '. John could see it and he did his best to distract me. He showed me movies I had never seen before, or maybe I had deleted, I couldn't remember... He would walk with me around the gardens, just talking with me about anything and everything. He would join me in my _Experiment Room_ , sitting close by yet out of the way, watching what I was doing and listening to my length explanations. He got me to play my violin, even suggesting he grab his clarinet and we learn a piece together.

The last person to suggest that to me was Mycroft.

I think John realised that when I hadn't replied after a short while, trying to retract his suggestion as quickly as he made it. I think it surprised him when I ended up agreeing.

"Mycroft plays piano." I had explained. "At least, I think he still plays... And Sherri played the flute. It's a shame things turned out the way they had - the four of us could have made quite a good team."

"Quite a good team? I think we would have been the best!" John grinned.

"You would have liked each other."

John stopped from where he was making his way to his room, to get his clarinet. He frowned slightly, as he turned just so to face me, head tilted a little. I suppose I hadn't really given much of an introduction to that statement, well, to anyone other than me...

"You and Sherri, I mean. Before the incident that had him taken away, before he got to that point, he was perceived as the more... _normal_ , of us Holmes boys." I explained. "He was kind, understanding. Intelligent, yet not frighteningly so. Sherri was someone who could become your friend from the moment he said hello. I see some similarities between the two of you, only a few, but I knew he would have liked you. Especially with how you've been with me over these past few months."

I never thought I would ever speak of Sherrinford again. It wasn't that I never wanted to, but because I could never talk of him with the people that knew him. How could I? Mycroft had been brainwashed, our parents were monsters... No one else knew the truth. But I could talk to John. I could talk to him without him knowing everything, at least, not until I was ready. John would listen and he wouldn't judge. Not like everyone else had. He would let me talk about my older brother, about Sherrinford, and he would see him as just that. As Sherrinford, as my big brother. Nothing else.

"I would like to thank you, John." I told him. "On his behalf... And on mine. You've done a lot for me. To most it may not seem like a lot, but it's more than anyone has done for me. You have not only become my first friend, my best friend, but you've helped me. It is not easy for me to accept help or to acknowledge that I may need it yet, either way, you have done it from the start. You truly are a fascinating person, John Watson. And an invaluable friend."

John was hugging me before I had finished speaking.

* * *

It took days. Days before I was told what was wr- No. Not wrong. I wasn't allowed to say or think ' _wrong_ '. _Different_. That was what I had to exchange it for.

It took days before I was told what was _different_ about me, about my mind.

Yet again, I had to go to that Doctors Surgery. Again, John was next to me the entire time. I didn't mind if he heard. He was the one that had suggested it, after all. He was the one that had been curious. He was the one I trusted.

Yet again, we got there early, no one else around. Again, we were ushered in within minutes.

Dr Hooper, as soon as we had sat down, just went on and over about what happened the last time we had visited. John and I had both been there, we _knew_ what had happened?! I didn't see the necessity in hearing her go over it! All I wanted to do was get the results and _leave_. That was all.

Of course, when she _did_ tell me, I was almost wanting to go back to her going over what happened during the last visit.

I had been diagnosed with Aspergers and ADHD. I would be going on medication for the latter, just something I would need to take once a day. Whilst I knew Mycroft had, most likely, been right all those years and, I knew, John's own diagnosis would be proven true, I could still say I hadn't been fully prepared for it.

It wasn't something I had wanted to hear.

Though I had known, in the end, all the facts had been there, all the evidence had pointed towards the outcome, I had still hoped for something different.

It wasn't something I looked down upon! It wasn't something I judged people for having! Don't take my reaction in the wrong way.

It was just something I had hoped wouldn't affect me.

After the many taunts of being a freak, after the consistent bullying from Mycroft, I think I was allowed to be upset from finding out that there was something else that set me apart from everyone else, that made me far more different than I already was. It wasn't that I _wanted_ to be like everyone else, it was just... I wanted to be different, as well as being able to fit in.

Now, I'll look at it differently, shall I? Knowing I had these unique differences, these things that made me, as John had told me, ' _special_ ', it would help to understand myself a little more. I would be able to understand why some things were harder for me to grasp - like certain social cues. I would be able to understand why I wasn't able to understand some people, why I didn't understand them when they weren't laying things out like I needed them to. I would be able to start to understand, maybe, why my brain worked as it did, why it ran so fast as so different. I would be able to understand why, when I did speak, sometimes I would do so excessively, or why I acted without thinking, why I had little to no sense of danger. I would be able to start to understand me.

But that scared me.

If I started to understand _me_ , what would happen? Would I get to a point where something snapped and I ended up like Sherrinford? Would I get to a point of hating myself that I rejected myself completely, turning down the same path as Mycroft? Would I hate myself so much that I turned into my parents?

I didn't know and it scared me.

I was going to start to understand myself and it scared me.

That was natural, wasn't it? To feel scared? It was a basic human feeling - something a lot people seemed to forget about me. They forgot I was human, they forgot I had feelings. But I was. I was human. I had feeling. And I was scared.

"It's fine, Sherlock." John said, his voice breaking me from my head. "It's _all fine_."

Looking to the blonde next to me, seeing him smiling and feeling the familiar weight of his hand on my shoulder, I believed him. How could I not? He hadn't lied to me about a single thing thus far, hadn't given me a single thing to doubt him for.

So I believed him.

It would be fine. It would _all_ be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT, BUT I'VE JUST STARTED UNIVERSITY!
> 
> Please, please review XD
> 
> Thanks being so, so patient everyone XD
> 
> I HAVE NEVER BEEN DIAGNOSED NOR HAVE BEEN PRESNT WHEN SOMEONE HAS BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH ADHD, ASPERGERS OR THE LIKE, I'M SORRY FOR ANYTHING I DID WRONG!


	9. Seven Months Later

**Chapter 9**

**Sherlock**

**_3 MONTHS LATER - March 2015_ **

The Easter Holidays for 2015 was Monday, March 30th until Sunday, April 12th. Two weeks without dreadfully dull teachers, two weeks without mind numbingly stupid peers... It sounded like pure bliss!

Plus, I would be able to concentrate on my experiments.

Well, that was how I thought it would go - two weeks of uninterrupted experiment time. I should have realised that, with the Watsons, things would never go as I had planned. This was how I found myself, on March 30th, being taken into town by all four Watsons...

They said it was a family thing...

I tried getting them to leave me at the house, tried saying that they would enjoy their time far more without me. Mr and Mrs Watson - sorry, _Geoffrey and Philomena_ \- refused to leave me behind. They had, apparently, decided that I was as much a part of the family as any of them.

I didn't know how to react to the statement. I had never felt like part of a family, not even when Mycroft used to be on my side. Not even when Sherrinford was still, well, _himself_. Those two - and Mrs Hudson, of course - were the only ones that ever made me feel loved, even with what little time I spent with them. But, even then, I never felt like part of a family. I didn't know how to _act_ as part of a family!

Somehow, John noticed my - _slight_ \- distress. He had pulled me aside, once his parents and sister had walked out the front door, asking if I was alright. I don't know what made me do it, but I explained to him my thoughts. John just smiled gently, hooking his arm around my shoulders in a friendly way, telling me that no one knew _how_ to act as part of a family. He told me it was instinctual - it came naturally, when you were with the people you were meant to be with.

In a strange way, I suppose it made sense.

Over the months, most things John explained to me made sense - especially when it came to social situations and things I wasn't familiar with. He had become a translator of sorts, rewording things in a way I would understand them. John had, in many ways, become me rock.

Since my diagnosis, few people had been informed. The school, obviously had, both my ADHD and Aspergers going into my medical record. John's parents, as well as Harry, had been informed, since I was living in a house with them twenty-four-seven. I had told Mrs Hudson, the woman deserving to know just as much as anyone else... They had been the only ones to know - my ' _parents_ ' wouldn't care; Mycroft would be just as cruel as when we were younger...

No one else needed to know.

* * *

The Watsons and I had gone to a rather quaint cafe for lunch. I wasn't familiar with the place, never really eating out before coming to live with them. As always, John would help me out, gently nudging me along if I was starting to cross some social boundary I shouldn't. That was, usually, when it came to interacting with a person who wasn't used to my behaviour - unlike the Watsons.

Sitting at the table, neither Geoffrey nor Philomena tried to force me into a conversation, however, they did make sure I would contribute every now and then. They both wanted me to feel included, yet comfortable. The topics would never surround anything hard - nothing like politics or the like - but always about something that was going on with one of them, or something they had read...

It was all just so chatty; meaningless. Was it strange that I loved it?

Usually, when I had zoned out of the conversation, I would look around wherever we were and try and deduce people. This situation was no different. I would watch the people in the cafe with us, I would watch the people passing by - Geoffrey and Philomena always made sure we had a table by the window, wherever we went, just so I could do this. I just watched, picking up little details about them that no one else could.

"Discovered anything interesting, dear?" Philomena asked, quietly.

Snapping back to focus, I found all four Watsons looking at me - not staring, never staring, just casual glances that were never forceful. They would back off if I didn't want to speak, yet they would listen to whatever I had to rattle off.

"No really; just more of the same." I shrugged, picking at the sandwich on my plate. "Affairs, military officers on leave; the same old boring thing."

"I'm sure someone interesting will walk past one day." Geoffrey chuckled. "You never know, my boy, soon you could close up that case you've been working on by looking at someone's shoes."

I had been brought into another case for Scotland Yard. Locked room murder type, a real brain tickler. It had been going on for months and the Yard had only brought me in a week and a half ago! Honestly, these people had no idea of when to bring someone in!

"I don't know about shoes, Dad." Harry laughed. "Maybe occupation, or tan line. "

"Imagine a killer tanning salon worker." John mused.

"That's it!" I grinned, scrabbling for my phone.

It should have occurred to me sooner! It was one of those things that was easily overlooked - something I _shouldn't_ have overlooked! But, as always, John managed to nudge me ever so closer.

"John, you are a genius!" I declared, punching in DI Lestrade's number, hoping that he wasn't taking time off...

"I am?" John frowned.

"Of course you are, don't be an idiot!"

"How am I?"

Rolling my eyes as I waited for the phone to finish ringing, I turned to the blond next to me.

"Tanning! The skin was far more tanned than it should have been, especially _that_ long after death! It was odd, but I thought nothing of it. He hadn't been on holiday, the tan wasn't at all natural, no tan lines anywhere..." I rushed. "What I didn't think of was a _tanning salon_! The _worker_ , John! The worker was the last person to see this man alive! If I'm right, which I am, there should be evidence on his jacket cuffs! Oh, yes, very clever! Unfortunately for them, not clever enough!"

It was that moment that Lestrade picked up. I didn't give him a chance to start talking, just telling him everything he needed to know, repeating it once or twice, just to make sure he had heard. I spent five minutes, if that, on the phone with him.

I practically scoffed the sandwich as soon as I had gotten off the phone with Lestrade. I always felt hungry and tired after finishing a case, something I just _had_ to get a handle on.

We had all left the cafe shortly after I made the call, where I promptly passed out in ' _my_ ' armchair the moment I sat down...

By the time I woke up, it was already six in the evening.

John was the only other person in the living room with me, once I woke up. He was sitting in his own armchair, reading _The Hobbit_ for the fifth time since I had been living in the house. He only looked up from the worn pages when he heard me start to move, placing his bookmark between them and setting it down on the table. He smiled, handing me a glass of water - this wasn't the first time I had passed out after a case.

"Maybe, next time, try and make it to your bed." John grinned. "Sleeping in an armchair can't be good for you."

"It wasn't as if I was asleep for long." I countered. "I take it I have no choice but to eat tonight?"

"Right as always! Don't think anyone would let you pass it up, not now you've finished the case."

"Wouldn't expect any less."

* * *

It was the end of the first week off when ' _Monthly Movie Night_ ' came around.

Quite literally, every month, the Watsons would all gather in the living room, move all the furniture and spend an entire evening watching as many films as they could, most of the time falling asleep whilst one played.

I had only recently started to join them - New Years Eve, if I remembered correctly, going on early into New Years Day.

Well, I say ' _join_ '... John decided to make it his mission to introduce to me any and every film I had never seen. It was a rather long list... It was only because, that night, they were going to watch _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ and I had, in passing, asked what it was. So, John being John, dragged me down onto the nest of blankets they had all made, making me sit and watch. To be honest, it _was_ a rather good movie... Strange as fuck, but rather good. And the songs were catchy.

I had come to look forward to Movie Night. It wasn't like anything I had ever done before - obviously.

We would watch everything from Disney, to musicals, to romance, to horror, to action... Whatever the genre, as long as one member of the Watson family enjoyed it, we would watch it.

Funnily enough, I didn't like mysteries... Well, no, not ' _funnily_ '. The deductions they made were completely absurd! I much preferred the cases I got to work on. Of course, after my revelation of not liking mysteries, John decided that we would not watch them anymore - or, at least, we would _rarely_ watch them.

What I _did_ like, however, came as a surprise to many of us.

I never thought I would be one to like musicals. It's usually the same sort of thing - girl meets guy, girl and guy fall in love, shit happens, everything gets resolved, they live happily ever after. I never thought it would be my kind of thing.

I seemed to forget the main aspect of a musical - the soundtrack. The songs, the music... It was something I never took into account.

So, when Harry decided one night to put _Les Misérables_ into the DVD player and it began playing, I was immediately captivated. And, surprisingly for me, not just by the music... I liked how it wasn't the typical guy-meets-girl shit. I liked how you got the back story; saw the character development. Whilst I do believe it's stupid to imprison someone for stealing _bread_ , I liked it.

This night, however - this March night - they decided it was _my_ turn to pick.

I picked to watch a musical, the question was: which one? Harry had, kindly, laid out every musical the Watsons owned, letting me take my time to choose the first film of the night. I had, immediately, taken out the ones we had already watched, recognising that they had all probably seen them hundreds of times and, for a lot of the films laid before me, were only re-watching them because I had never seen them. So I decided on one we hadn't seen yet. I read the back of each case, getting the general gist of the movie itself, before I made my choice.

 _RENT_ \- that was the musical I had picked. It sounded interesting and it didn't disappoint.

I liked how you weren't just landed with one story line.

I liked how you actually had characters that were a part of the LGBTQ+ community.

I liked how the two gay couples weren't side characters.

I liked how it was about a real problem that real people had faced. It made a bigger impression that way.

Plus, they didn't do the fairytale ending where everyone lives happily ever after... They made it about real life - they didn't find some magical spell to fix everything. They stayed true to life.

And, come on, who _doesn't_ like sassy?

* * *

Thursday, April 9th - halfway through our second, and last, week of Easter - Harry decided it was time we spent some time together.

And, by we, I mean: John, me, Harry herself and Clara, her girlfriend.

Her excuse was that it would be nice for all of us to hang out, to have a day to just fuck off and enjoy time out - especially since both Geoffrey and Philomena had been called into work.

I had met Clara before - John's birthday being the first time. Each meeting had been short, not much time for the two of us to speak to each other all that much. This day would be the first time. I was just grateful Harry and John would be there! If I had been by myself, I wouldn't have known what to do. I mean, I could barely hold a conversation with Harry, Geoffrey or Philomena, and I had known them since the end of August!

John, yet again, was the anomaly. I had known him for the same amount of time, yet I could speak with him easily - we had to be told to stop talking, a lot of the time! Though, usually, that was during class... Not the best time to be talking, but the majority - if not all - of our teachers were completely useless!

But that wasn't the point!

Clara had met up with us outside some shop or another. The girl had her dark hair in a pixie cut, purple clips holding her fringe out of her hazel eyes. She wore this pink floaty dress that came just above her knee - obviously a favourite of Harry's, if the way she was staring at Clara was anything to go by... She seemed to have this permanent smile on her face, yet somehow it never seemed forced - her face was honest, portraying each emotion as she felt it. It was great, easy for me to interact with her on a social level.

Just never get her angry...

I had only seen Clara angry a couple of times, both times because of something someone would say about Harry, John and, surprisingly, even about me. It was surprising only for the fact that, even after such little time, that she cared enough to be angered about comments made about me - not because such comments had been made. Clara turned into this _demon_ when she was angered - no joke; if Clara was angry, you got the hell out of her way!

Thankfully, that side of her only came out when _extremely_ provoked. Out of the two, _Harry_ was usually the hot tempered one, unsurprisingly.

Anyway, again, not the point!

Day out!

There wasn't any plan we were sticking to - it was, pretty much, just us spending the day together, having fun. Or, at least, that was how John had explained it to me. He also said that it was a good way to get to know someone, something which made me doubt that this was just a random idea Harry had - honestly, if they wanted Clara and I to interact more, you think they'd just invite her to the house at a convenient time!

But it was too late for that, we had already taken this step.

* * *

I didn't expect for us to be out for, about, five hours. I mean, we barely did anything. Sure, Clara had dragged us into _many_ shops and we stopped for lunch, but it didn't feel like _five hours_!

It felt so much shorter...

Only when I realised this did I think that, yes, I actually had enjoyed my time out in public. With people. Socializing.

For years I had been, admittedly, terrified of doing just that. Forget the fact I had no one to hang out _with_ , but the fact I would be around a _very large_ number of people scared me. That was why I had spent so much time locked in my room, back at my parents' house. I didn't want to go out, I didn't want to be around all those _people_!

But I had fun.

Harry, Clara and John had taken my mind off of it all, my attention solely on the three of them. Well, for the most part. I, of course, did my usual deductions of people, even continuing the routine of letting them know what I had found - when asked. I even showed my abilities to Clara, considering she had never seen my mind at work... And, well, you know, she asked. She had been shocked, of course she had - I didn't expect for her to react like John had - but she took it _far_ better than Harry, that was for sure.

"How do you do it?" Clara asked, eyes wide as we walked her home. "How does it work?"

"I notice things others overlook. And, from these things, I can figure them out." I shrugged.

"No, I mean, how did you learn? _Is_ it something you can learn?"

And that stopped me.

I had never thought about if you could _learn_ how to do what I could.

I had never stopped to think about how I could do it.

I frowned, pushing my hands into the pockets of my Belstaff, turning my face into my scarf.

"That is something I _don't_ have the answer to." I muttered. "I have always been observant, pointing out things no one else ever could. So, I suppose I never learnt. Nor have I tried to teach anyone, or know of anyone who has been taught."

It made me wonder if what I could do really was just a party trick. Could it have been something someone had taught me? Could it be that, maybe, someone had taught Mycroft and, with him being my older brother, I subconsciously started to copy him, thus training myself of how to read people? Was my ' _special power_ ' really all that special after all?


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Sherlock**

Saturday, April 18th, I woke up rather early. It wasn't unusual for me to do so, far from it. What was unusual was that I didn't want to get up.

I lay in bed, staring at the wall, the covers pulled up to my chin; John had already left. The first week back for the summer term, in short, had been far worse than awful. It seemed that, as we started to reach the end of the academic year, more and more people decided to tell me _exactly_ what they thought of me.

It meant, a lot more people calling me a freak.

It meant, a lot more people calling me a psychopath.

It meant, a lot more people calling me anti-social.

Someone had even managed to find out about my diagnosis of Aspergers and ADHD.

Everything had just gotten a lot worse and it had only been five days.

John had noticed a change in my behaviour, subtle as it may have been on the outside. He had started to spend more time with me inside school hours, fending off anyone that wanted to belittle me. Of course, this caused a few more people to try and insinuate we were a couple. He would just brush it off as he always did. At the house, he acted as he always had with me, even continuing our nightly routine. Only, he had stopped waiting a few hours to come to my room, instead getting ready for bed and coming straight across the hall.

I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Whilst I believed that, yes, he most likely had no interest in being with me, the routine that had been in place for a few months almost suggested otherwise. It was...confusing.

Sighing, I shifted until I lay on my back, the duvet slipping down slightly.

Usually, I had no problem knowing what people were thinking. They were all so boring, predictable. John... John was different. He wasn't like everyone else. He wasn't as much of an idiot as the rest of them. He was the first person that tried to help me understand everything I didn't.

I could quite certainly admit, as of that moment, that my feelings for John were not platonic. I would not say ' _love_ '. I refused to say ' _love_ '. I mean, who really knew about ' _love_ '? Who knew what it felt like? Honestly, I refused to believe that anyone _truly_ understood love. At that moment, I just knew what I felt for John was not typically what someone felt for their friend. Even _I_ knew that.

* * *

I didn't move until two, almost three, hours after I had woken up. Harry and John were both sitting the conservatory, the same one we had gone into on the day I had met them. The siblings were sat on one of the window seats, their backs to the slight sun behind them, laughing.

The sun through the window made John's hair look lighter, the lightest it had been since the summer. It just seemed to brighten him up all the more...

_No. Stop that!_

It was ridiculous thinking like that. It would only make my infatuation with him worse. What was the point if there was no hope? John would never reciprocate, nor did I think I would act on it. What was the point in thinking these things when it would, ultimately, lead to nothing?

It frustrated me. It seemed that I couldn't delete the feelings or thoughts I kept having, in regards for John. It didn't help that this seemed to worsen my changing behaviour, making John even more concerned. All I wanted was for it to stop. I didn't want to think or feel these things!

My eyes narrowing, I backed out of the room, quietly.

I turned my back the moment I knew I wouldn't be seen, making my way to the living room. I marched straight to ' _my_ ' armchair, throwing myself down into the seat, curling up into a small ball. I closed my eyes, screwing them up as tight as I could, just wanting to block everything out - the sun, the laughter, the happiness. I wanted to block out everything that could make these feelings grow.

I didn't know how to deal with them. I didn't know how to function with these feelings. I had experienced kindness from few people; I hadn't seen a functioning relationship, until I moved in with the Watsons... I didn't know anything about relationship of any kind! John would say it was all based on instinct, but that didn't explain why he was the first friend I had made. Though, apparently, I treated him a lot different to how I treated others...

All I wanted to do was scream. I wanted to do _something_ to get rid of the frustration; the confusion! I couldn't handle the pressure that it all brought on.

The only thing I knew was hate, not love.

I didn't know how to act without fearing abuse.

I couldn't trust easily, for fear I might end up like Sherrinford.

None of it helped me. Everything my parents had made me suffer through didn't help me. Of course it didn't! Nothing they did, or had done, or would ever do would help me! Well, unless I worked a case that relied on the knowledge, or something of the sort.

* * *

Throughout the day, my mood dropped significantly. I couldn't get away from the thoughts and feelings. I couldn't stop my mind from dragging me back to _that house_. I couldn't stop thinking about my eldest brother.

Nothing could stop the growing angst.

Because of this, I was snappier than usual. Mrs Hudson would say nothing to me, already knowing about the moods. All she would do is set a cup of tea on the table next to me, then leave. Harry and John, however, being the only other ones in the house at the time, took the brunt of my foul temper.

Countless times, I deduced Harry. She would pretend like she didn't care, that it wasn't affecting her, but I could see the pain she tried to hide in her eyes. But there also seemed to be some kind of understanding. I didn't know why that was there, I didn't know how she could feel that...

It just annoyed me more.

John... John got it worse. Because, at the time, I saw him as one of the objects of my frustration, I became particularly bad tempered towards him. I did the same as what I did to Harry, deducing him and facts about his current girlfriend, Mary. I would bring up the situation with school, saying that he only made it worse when he followed me around...

John, however, didn't react like Harry did.

John was confused. He didn't understand why I was acting in such a way. He was hurt that I was saying such things to him and his sister. He was fed up with my mood, in turn growing increasingly more angry.

There was a point where, sickeningly, I was _happy_ with that outcome. Anger I knew how to deal with; anger I understood. I wondered if he would hit me, if he would yell and scream at me.

I was this sick mix of happy and terrified.

"For fuck sake, Sherlock! Can you just act _normal_ already?! Stop being such a-" John hissed.

"Go on, finish the sentence!" I screamed over the top of him. "Say the word! Just do it, call me a _freak_!"

Just like a snap of someone's fingers, John changed. His anger turned to confusion, his body posture relaxed.

"I wasn't going to say-" he started.

"You're _lying_! You think I'm a _freak_ ; everybody thinks I'm a _freak_!" I yelled, grabbing fists full of my hair. "I'm a freak; I'm psychopath; I'm a _fucking_ robot! Why wouldn't you think that?"

"Sherlock, I don't-"

"STOP _LYING_!"

I _flew_ up those stairs.

* * *

The second I reached my room, tears were gushing down my cheeks. I closed the door as gently as I could, weakly punching the wall next to it. I hadn't wanted it to get that far, I hadn't wanted to target Harry and John.

I couldn't stop my mouth from acting, before my brain had caught up with it.

Though, honestly, it probably didn't help that I hadn't been taking my medication. It was difficult, remembering to take it every day, especially when working a case or falling deep into my Mind Palace and losing track of time.

I hadn't taken my medication for my ADHD for the past three and a half weeks.

I hadn't taken my medication for my depression, something that had only recently been added to my list of ' _problems_ ', for the past week.

I hadn't taken my sleeping pills since John had started staying with me at night.

At that moment, all I wanted to _do_ was sleep. I wanted to get rid of everything that had happened. I wanted to move on from it, to start the day again.

I just felt so tired.

I couldn't remember moving from the door to my bedroom, into the bathroom.

I couldn't remember going into the cabinet, taking out the pills.

In my head, I tried to calculate how many of each I would need to level myself out.

In my head, it seemed like a good idea to just take them together.

It seemed like a good idea to just sit down on the bathroom floor, just for a second, until I didn't feel so tired anymore.

* * *

**John**

It took me minutes before I could move.

I felt rooted to the spot, not understanding what had just happened. I couldn't understand how Sherlock had just flipped.

I wanted an answer. I wanted to know what was wrong with him. I wanted to know why he had gotten so standoffish with Harry and I. I wanted to know what was making him so upset.

The second I could move, I ran up the stairs, intent on talking to him. I would take the bait and get mad - I would stay calm, get him to explain to me what was wrong. All I wanted to do was help him. I wanted to help solve the issue, if it could be solved.

I wanted to be there for my best friend.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I found.

When I heard no sound coming from Sherlock's bedroom, at first, I wasn't worried. I knocked, but I got no reply.

So I walked in.

He wasn't in his room.

I heard no noise coming from his _Experiment Room_.

And then I saw a hand.

In the bathroom, poking out just past the door was a hand. A violently shaking hand.

I ran as fast as I could towards the bathroom, shoving the door open as wide as it could go. Laying with his back towards the bath, was Sherlock.

Passed out, on the floor.

In the middle of a seizure, turning blue and barely breathing.

"HARRY! CALL AN AMBULANCE!" I screamed.

* * *

**Sherlock**

There was beeping.

 _Lots_ of beeping.

Beeping and dripping and _noise_. My head was already pounding, as if my skull was keeping a marching band prison, letting the drums beat against the bone there.

Talking.

Voices started to become clearer, closer... I didn't recognise them.

I didn't want to open my eyes.

The voices were ripping through my ear drums.

_Why were they so loud?_

Everything hurt. My head. My stomach.

I felt weak. Weaker than I ever had before...

_What was wrong with me?_

_I could hear the beeping get louder, faster. I could hear a slight urgency in the voices. I didn't know where I was, I didn't know what was going on... I didn't know why there were so many_ _voices_ _._

_That was when they touched me._

" _NO_! GET AWAY FROM ME!" I yelled, pulling my arm back and pushing myself away, as my eyes snapped open. " _GET OFF ME_!"

The voices kept talking, hands on me, trying to keep me down.

Panic.

That's all I felt.

Painful panic that gripped my chest and heart, squeezing so hard it felt like I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't tell where I was. Everything was white. There was nothing that I could cling onto, nothing I could see that could tell me where I was.

I kept screaming, kept yelling. I was just _hoping_ someone would hear me, that someone would come _help_ me.

And they did.

The door slammed open, another voice joining the others, only much louder. I couldn't hear what they were saying, I didn't know what they were doing... All I knew was that the voices were leaving.

I couldn't tell if I was alone, or if the loud voice was still in the room with me. I had my answer when I heard footsteps approach me... I tried to back away from them, but they didn't try to touch me. I just heard them sit down.

"Hello, Lockie." the voice said, quietly.

All the noise stopped.

Carefully blinking, clearing the fuzziness from my eyes, I slowly turned to my right. In a chair, next to me, I found Mycroft sitting next to me. His hair was a mess, his clothes were rumpled, he had dark bags under his eyes. He didn't look like the well put together man I had started to know him as.

"What's going on?" I tried to demand, my voice rough.

"You're in the hospital." he told me, gently, handing me a plastic cup of water. "You've been here for three days - you've only just woken up."

"But why?"

"You overdosed."

* * *

Mycroft explaining to me what he knew was the first, _real_ conversation we had had in years. No screaming, no yelling, no insults. He just sat there, talking to me, actually seeming concerned.

He got me to explain my side of the story. He was one of the few people who could tell when I was lying, he always could. I told him everything that had led up to the decision, being more than a little vague when it came to John... Mycroft knew, though. He read between the lines and he understood.

For the first time in a long time, I actually felt like Mycroft was my brother. It felt like he actually cared about me. Like he really did give a damn. For a moment, I was elated - maybe there was a small bit of my brother left... At the same time, I was fuming - why did he care now; why would he act like this now? It made no sense to me!

I shuffled away from him slightly, moving as far over to the other side of the bed as I could. How long would it take for him to change again, to go back to a cold-hearted bastard? I wished I didn't think like that, I wished that he wouldn't. I just wanted my big brother back...

I missed him.

"I miss you too, Sherlock." Mycroft said, quietly, staring down at the edge of the hospital bed. "I miss my baby brother."

"Don't lie to me." I whispered. "You don't care."

"I'm not lying! I have _always_ cared about you!"

"Really? You call leaving me to the dogs _caring_? Don't make me laugh."

I watched Mycroft flinch slightly, his hands tightening into fists on his knees as his shoulder tightened just a little. He started to shake. The movement was so subtle that I barely noticed it. If I was anyone else, I wouldn't have.

"Th-They said they would stop." he whispered, his voice breaking just so. "Th-They said they would leave you alone."

Looking up, I turned slightly towards my brother, a frown on my face. Never had I heard him stutter, never had I heard him so close to tears. Never had I heard him so vulnerable. It was a side to him I wasn't used to.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, softly.

Mycroft didn't look up.

His knuckles were turning white from the strain, his shoulders starting to shake uncontrollably. He wasn't the Mycroft that had been created at the age of eleven anymore, he wasn't the strong older brother I knew until then... This was the side of him that he hid.

Hesitantly, I reached out a hand to him. He didn't react. Not until my fingertips touched the back of his hand.

He jolted slightly, only then lifting his head.

His eyes were haunted, a pain in them I had never seen. His pale skin had turned sickly, almost ashen.

"Talk to me." I pleaded, a small amount of panic starting to rise.

Mycroft's left hand uncurled from the fist it had been placed in, almost folding over mine. His grip was strong, as if I would slip away if he even let go just a little.

"They wanted me to leave, to go to a boarding school. I didn't want to leave you alone with them." Mycroft whispered. "So we made a deal - I turn into what they wanted and they would leave you alone."

If possible, Mycroft's hand grew tighter around mine. He was almost cutting off the circulation, he was holding it so tight.

"I-I didn't know they were lying. Honestly, I didn't. I should have realised, but I didn't. And that made you hate me more." he continued. "I thought you'd be better off, I thought they would _stop_. I just didn't want them to hurt you anymore."

I watched as he looked down, his eyes starting to shimmer with unshed tears. His voice became strained, trying to keep himself composed... It wasn't exactly working very well.

"I know apologising isn't enough, but it's a good place for me to start." Mycroft said. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. And I hope, some day, we can fix our relationship."

* * *

**John**

The nurses hadn't listened to Mycroft's warnings.

He had told them, even the doctors, that Sherlock would _not_ respond well when he woke up. He had told them Sherlock would _not_ do well with them all talking, with all the noise.

But they didn't listen.

The second we heard Sherlock screaming, Mycroft flew out of his seat. He ran into the room, yelling at everyone in there, demanding they all take their hands off of _his_ brother, take they should take their incompetent arses out of the room.

That had been, almost, two hours ago and he hadn't reappeared.

Greg and I were still sitting in our chairs, staring at the door. In the three days Sherlock had been in the hospital, the three of us hadn't moved - unless we needed the toilet or one of us went to get food for us all. None of us wanted to leave, just in case.

It had been terrifying, seeing Sherlock lying on the bathroom floor, lifeless. I could think of what I had to do, I couldn't make sense of what was happening. I could only think to yell for Harry to get an ambulance, before trying to keep Sherlock as still as possible. I didn't know what else I could do to help!

The only good thing about the situation? I saw the brotherly side of Mycroft. I saw the side of him that I never knew he had. Whenever he left for a few moments, Greg would tell me how, what I had just seen, that was the _real_ Mycroft.

I hoped to God he was right...

"You really like that kid, don't you?" Greg said from my left.

Looking towards the nineteen year old, I frowned slightly, cocking my head to the side.

"Who? Sherlock?" I asked. "Well, yeah. He's my best friend."

Huffing a small laugh, Greg smiled, shaking his head as he turned towards me.

"That's not what I mean, John." Greg explained.

"Then what _do_ you mean?" I huffed.

"That's not for me to tell you."

Glaring slightly at the one I called a friend, I turned back to staring at the door. Honestly, why did he even say anything if he wasn't going to elaborate? I wasn't a mind reader, I didn't instantly know what he was thinking!

"I heard your dating some girl." Greg mused. "Mary?"

"We're not dating." I sighed. "We're just friends, nothing else."

"Oh? Harry said different."

"Harry knows shit. I am _not_ dating Mary. Why is it, whenever I'm friends with a girl, people think I'm dating her?!"

Greg held his hands up in surrender, trying to contain his laughter. He had been awfully chipper since Mycroft had shut the door, blocking us from hearing his and Sherlock's conversation.

I wondered if Sherlock told him what had happened.

I wondered _what_ Sherlock had done.

I wondered if it was an accident.

_Of course it was an accident!_

I _hoped_ it was an accident...

I wanted nothing more than for this to be some kind of misunderstanding. That way we could all go home and try and move on. That was all I wanted. I didn't care very much for answers about Sherlock's outburst anymore, all I wanted was to get him _home_ , where I could take care of him!

_Huh..._

It was only recently that I realised that had become a lot more... _protective_ , I suppose you could say, of Sherlock. After everything that had happened since he started to live with us, with me, I just felt the need to be with him all the time, to keep him happy, to keep him away from anything that could hurt him.

I felt the need to be there so I could deflect anything negative coming his way.

I felt the need to be there so I could try and make it better.

At first, I thought it had only been during the week at school, before this incident. I thought that was the first time I had started to be so protective over my friend. But then I started to think back. I began to remember things I had done for him, over the past few months, that I probably wouldn't have done for every single one of my friends. One example being getting them to fall asleep, before going to sleep myself, next to them.

Now I was wondering, was it normal? Was my behaviour normal? Was it typical to act like this with your best friend? I suppose, in a way, Sherlock was a special case. I mean, he was just that - _special_. I didn't mean that in a derogative way, definitely not. But he wasn't like anyone I had ever met before.

It was confusing. I didn't know if I was just tired and looking too much into things, or if I had a valid point. And, if I did have a valid point, what did it mean?

Did he mean more to me than a friend?

Did I think of him as a little brother?

Did I love him?

_Oh!_

_Oh my God!_

_I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes!_

* * *

**Sherlock**

I was kept in the hospital for the rest of the week, everyone claiming it was ' _just in case_ '. I didn't like hospitals. I didn't want to stay in the hospital. I wanted to _leave_!

But Mycroft never left me.

Neither did Gregory.

And neither did John.

The three of them were always there with me, never leaving me on my own. I think they were the only things keeping me from going completely mad; the only things stopping me from trying to break myself out. Well, them and the constant visits I received from Harry and Clara, Geoffrey and Philomena, as well as Mrs Hudson.

It was Sunday, April 26th 2015 when they finally released me. But they did that under one condition - I was to see a counsellor once a week, for however long _Mycroft_ decided. I wasn't sure how I felt about the arrangement. I wasn't sure if I wanted to speak to some stranger about how I was feeling. But, apparently, they thought I had tried to kill myself, not listening to Mycroft and I when we had said it was an _accident_! Because they found my self-inflicted scars, they decided it _may_ have been a suicide attempt.

Hence, the counsellor.

Getting back to the house was _amazing_! My only issue? Facing Harry again and being left alone with her and John. Since being in the hospital, I hadn't spoken to either of them about the incident. They hadn't brought it up and neither had I... I didn't want to talk about it, I didn't want to remember the things I said to make them angry.

Mycroft hadn't wanted to leave me. He was hesitant, fluttering around and not knowing what to do. He kept asking if I needed anything, if I was sure I was going to be ok... He didn't want to leave me again. It was quite funny and, to be honest, I actually appreciated it. In a way, it proved to me that he really _did_ want to fix things.

It took Mycroft and Gregory three hours to leave the house - only because they had plans with Gregory's parents. Even then, Gregory had to _drag_ Mycroft out of the house.

After that, I was left with Harry and John. In the living room. Just the three of us.

I could barely look at them. I could barely breathe, I was so nervous. I just wanted one of them to speak, just wanted one of them to mention the elephant in the room.

"Forgive and forget?" Harry asked, smiling, as she held her arms out to John and I.

"Forgive and forget." John nodded, hugging his sister with one arm, as he held the other out like her.

They bother smiled at me, waiting for me.

They didn't try to push me - I suppose, in this situation, I should say _pull_ me.

They didn't try to hurry me up.

They just waited for me to make my move.

"Forgive and forget." I whispered, nodding, hesitantly, joining them.

Harry's arm wrapped around my shoulders, John's arm around my waist. They both held me tightly, the warmth seeping into my skin. I hadn't expected such a reaction from them, and I could feel myself reacting without permission and, before I knew it, I was a broken, sobbing mess.

They held me tighter, both of them telling me it was all ok. Both of them telling me that everything would be fine. They comforted me.

If this was what it was like to be loved by family, I never wanted it to stop.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Sherlock**

Geoffrey and Philomena allowed for me to take another week off of school. They thought it would be good for me to take some time to get back to myself, to just breathe and try to start putting the whole thing behind me.

And, you know, to prepare for what I would face at the school.

They also allowed for John to stay with me. They had seen how John had helped me over the months I had been with them, so they probably thought it would be good to have him by my side throughout ' _this difficult time_ '.

I wasn't complaining.

John and I were, practically, alone during the day. Just the two of us, doing whatever we felt like doing. It was calming. I had never had a moment in my life, before moving in with the Watsons, where a situation was calm. I never knew the feeling. It was addictive...

It was halfway through the week - Thursday, April 30th 2015 - when John and I were in the living room, that I decided to tell him.

It had been John's idea to build a fort in the middle of the room, the two of us grabbing all the duvets, pillows and blankets we could. I had never built a fort before... The closest I had made to a fort was hiking the duvet on my bed over my head, sitting under there with Redbeard and a torch. That was the most I had done in my childhood that could be considered ' _normal_ '.

The two of us were relaxing under the canopy of sheets, food and drink around us, as we lay back against the pillows, staring up at the roof we had made. We spoke about anything and everything that came to mind. We didn't linger on a subject, we didn't speak about anything too difficult.

We just made light conversation.

It was during one of the moments of quiet that I started to think about it. Started to think about what had happened. Stared to think if I should explain everything to John. I knew he was curious. I knew he was aware I didn't have the best upbringing, but he didn't know exactly what it was like.

In some ways, he deserved to know. He deserved to understand what had happened, so then he could fully understand why I did certain things. In other ways, telling John would only make it worse. Any time my parents came to the house, anytime something happened at the school, he would just remember the things I said and... Well, there were many things John could do or say, all of the possible. I couldn't say for definite exactly how he would react.

But did that mean I would lie to him forever? That I _could_?

Sighing softly, I ran my hands down my face. I just couldn't seem to make my mind up. If it was anyone else, I would have my answer. I wouldn't tell them. But I never knew what to do when it came to John Watson. He was far more complex than the idiots in the world.

"What's wrong?" John asked, nudging my arm with his elbow. "That's the fifth sigh in just as many minutes."

Rolling my head to face him, I found John grinning. Completely oblivious as to what was going on inside my head. I didn't want to take away the smile on his face. I didn't want to bring his mood crashing down.

But if I didn't tell him at that moment, would I ever get up the courage to do it at a later date?

"I need to tell you about my family." I told him, quietly. "You should know."

"You don't need to." John said.

"Yes, I _do_."

I couldn't look at John. I couldn't look into his eyes. It would be a lot more difficult for me if I had to look at him...

John didn't say anything as we lay there. He kept quiet, waiting for me to say something. He was patient, he always was with me... He never tried to rush me or force me to do anything. It always helped, especially when it came to situations such as this...

"Ever since I can remember, I haven't had what people would call a ' _normal upbringing_ '. My Mother and Father both had _horrible_ tempers. Neither of them liked that Mycroft and I were _different_." I started. "I never knew a day without being hit... Every day, no matter what, I would be hit by both of them. It had started with Sherrinford, so I don't know what set them off, but they never stopped as the years went on."

I heard John shuffle around, turning onto his side to look at me properly. I could practically feel him staring into the side of my head.

"They would bruise us, they've broken bones. And it's been more than verbal - it's been mental, verbal, emotional. Sherrinford was the most affected by it. I told you he was taken away at eighteen, but I never explained why." I continued. "Sherrinford, being the oldest, got the worst of the abuse and the most. He was even abused sexually, from the age of seven to thirteen, by numerous friends of our parents. All of it messed with his head and he tried to kill our parents and himself... No one believed him, though. They put him in an asylum and we haven't seen or spoken to him since."

It was so quiet. Deafeningly so.

I could hear my heart beating in my ears.

"When Sherrinford was taken from us, they turned their anger to me. Then, when Mycroft became the perfect child, all negative attention was focused on me. I began to lock myself in my room. I withdrew further into myself... I started cutting myself at the age of eight." I sighed. "Before coming to this house, I was used to cold words, bruises and pain. I didn't know what a family was supposed to act like, until I saw how you and your family interacted."

John was silent.

* * *

I told John everything about my parents. Every single thing he had ever done to my brothers and I. I showed him what few pictures I had of Sherrinford, as we as Mycroft from back before he made his agreement with our parents. They were all pictures without our parents, of the three of us doing something we enjoyed with each other and Mrs Hudson. It was the only time I - any of us for that fact - felt some sort of happiness, not that it could really be called that...

Whilst Mycroft had red hair and mind was a dark brown, almost black, Sherrinford had a reddish-brown colouring. His eyes were also a blue-grey, the lightest dusting of freckles covering the bridge of his nose. I couldn't say for sure what his height was... I hadn't seen him in just under a decade...

To be honest, I couldn't say if he looked anything similar to how I remembered him.

I couldn't say if he even remembered _me_.

Out of everything that had ever happened to me, I believed that _that_ was the worst of it. Having my eldest brother taken from me, not knowing where he was or if he was even alright... Having one of the only people that actually _cared_ taken away.

"Come September, Sherrinford will be twenty seven." I said. "He needs help, but they just locked him up. Trying to hide their dirty secret."

"Why didn't you go to the police?" John whispered, the tips of his fingers running gently over the images in front of him. "Why _don't_ you?"

"They would never believe us. The only proof we have is on us and, even then, they would say it happened at school. Many of our peers hate us enough for any suspicion to be taken off of them."

Laying on my stomach, I rested my chin on my crossed arms. I looked away from the pictures, staring at the duvets and pillows that cushioned the ground. I rarely took out the pictures. It had been _years_ since I had even glanced towards where I kept them.

"Besides, my parents hold too much power. The only way they get convicted is if we have solid evidence, showing that what we say is true." I sighed. "We don't have that. Nothing will be done if I open my mouth. Except from, maybe, getting another beating when no one's around."

I felt John's arm slip around me. He moved slowly, carefully, as if approaching a frightened animal. I suppose, in some ways, that was a good thing. I mean, it was the case with some of the victims in the cases I assisted with - they tell us what happened then, when they are touched or someone moves unexpectedly, they react hysterically. Why? Because everything that had happened was at the forefront of their mind. Everything was brought to the surface and, sometimes, they were lost in the memories.

I didn't notice I had moved until I was tucked close to John's side. The side of his head rested on top of mine, his thumb gently rubbing against the side of my back.

"I'm not going to let that happen." John told me. "They're not going to hurt you again."

* * *

**John**

Sherlock fell asleep an hour after we looked at the pictures. After everything that had happened, he had been sleeping a lot more. Not that I blamed him. I mean, he slept badly as it was.

As soon as I was sure he was asleep, I was on the phone. I flew out of the fort I had made with Sherlock, fumbling around for my mobile, before violently searching through my contacts.

I was _beyond_ furious.

 _"Hey, John! Everything ok?"_ Greg's voice sounded down the phone.

"No. Everything is _not_ ok." I hissed. "Please tell me your Dad knows what happened to them."

Silence.

That was all I heard on the other end of the phone.

Complete and utter silence.

 _"Sherlock told you."_ Greg sighed.

"Yeah, he did. About his parents, about Sherrinford, about Mycroft... He told me." I growled. "Now, does your Dad _know_?"

My hand was clutched tight around my phone. I was gripping it so hard my hand was aching. I felt hot. I felt like I was standing in the middle of a fire. My heart was pounding, my entire body was shaking.

I didn't know what I was supposed to say, if I was supposed to say anything to anyone. I wanted to, _God_ , did I want to! But I didn't want Sherlock to get hurt. That was the only thing stopping me.

I didn't want his ' _parents_ ' to win and get to hurt him again.

 _"Yeah, he does."_ Greg told me. _"We've been trying to get a solid case against them, ever since My told me."_

"Good. I want in." I said. "I want these people out of their lives. For good."

_"You and me both..."_

Greg and I weren't on the phone much longer after that. I was too riled up to keep talking about it all, I was getting too angry. I couldn't keep talking about it with Greg and Greg himself needed to talk to his Dad and Mycroft about it all.

I, on the other hand, made my way back to Sherlock.

The sixteen year old was still laying there, asleep. At first glance, it looked as if he was sleeping peacefully. However, the closer I got, I could see the slight frown, I could see the slight shaking.

Careful, as not to wake him, I settled myself back next to him as gently as I could. All I could do was wrap an arm around him as he slept, hoping he wouldn't wake up before he got _some_ decent sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, but I've been having a lot of issues with family, University, my anxiety, etc. It's kind of knocked me off of my writing. Trust me when I say I'm trying to write for my fics as fast as I can.

**Chapter 12**

**Sherlock**

After my week off, after _The Incident_ , I went back to school part-time. Just two days a week, Wednesday and Thursday, until twelve in the afternoon. The school, the Watsons and Mycroft, even my counsellor, believed there was a possibility it would be too stressful for me, if I went back full time straight away. I just didn't understand them. Surely going back, taking my mind off of what had happened, was the best step forward. Right? The only consolation was that John got to stay with me as well.

Since the hospital, Mycroft had spent as much time at the house, as much time with me, as he could. Since he had started at his top University during September 2014, it was more time than people would originally thought, yet less time than he would have liked. It was strange having him _there_ almost all of the time.

It was Friday - May 8th. Gregory and Mycroft had been in the house since the night before, taking one of the many empty rooms. As soon as they had woken up, they had gone downstairs, along with John and Harry. I had heard their footsteps, whilst I pretended to still be asleep. I just didn't want to get up. Not at that moment, at least. I stayed laying in bed, the duvet pulled up under my chin and my face buried. The only thing really visible was my hair. The door wasn't locked. Nothing had exactly been said, though I gathered the others would feel far more relaxed if they had an unobstructed entrance into my room. I suppose I could understand that...

If I looked further into it, I would be able to say why I didn't want to get up. If I looked further into it, I would be able to identify and explain it. The fact was, I didn't _want_ to. I didn't want to acknowledge what the reason was. I didn't want to pay it any heed.

I should have realised, however, that my behaviour wouldn't be ignored.

I was left alone for, around, an hour, after everyone had woken up, before there was a knock on the door. I barely moved my head. I just expected it to be John. He was usually the one to get me downstairs to eat or socialize.

I didn't expect Mycroft.

"What do you want?" I muttered, looking at him over my shoulder.

"We were wondering if you were interested in joining us." Mycroft replied. "However, you seem rather comfortable just there."

I rolled over onto my side, shuffling up slightly so I could look at him properly. Mycroft was out of his uptight, stuffy attire, swapping it for somehow comfortable looking yet fitted jeans, along with a light lavender v-neck sweater. It was strange, seeing him so relaxed and, well, _human_. It was slightly unnerving.

"I'm doing an experiment." I muttered.

"No you're not, Sherlock." Mycroft sighed. "I've seen you work on your experiments and... _this_ is not how you usually are."

Glaring slightly, I pulled the duvet up tighter, turning my gaze away from him. Honestly, I should have locked the door. Damn what any of them would have thought! If they were _really_ all that worried, one of them could have knocked down the bloody door!

It took me a moment to realise Mycroft had moved. Not until the mattress dipped. I moved my head enough to be able to just see the fabric of his clothes. I felt his hand, tentatively, rest on my shoulder. I could feel him play with strands of my hair, like he used to do before everything turned to shit... I could feel all the tension leek from my body, my eyelids started getting heavy. I was ready to fall asleep.

* * *

Mycroft didn't say anything. He just sat there, next to me, playing with my hair. I slowly uncurled from my position under the duvet, moving until it was no longer pulled up to under my chin.

"I remember, when you were a baby, fourteen months old, this was the only way we could get you to sleep." Mycroft chuckled, softly. "You wouldn't give in otherwise."

I turned my head slightly to look at him. I hadn't seen a genuine smile from him in, well, years. He used to smirk, all haughty and above it all. It would irritate me, infuriate me... I was still trying to get used to the change.

"We?" I muttered, keeping my voice only just above a whisper.

"Sherri and I." he explained, smiling. "Sherri always knew how to look after you; always knew what you needed and when, and exactly what to try to calm you down... Though he did get some practice in with me, I suppose."

I stilled. Slowly, I turned onto my back, pushing myself up until my back was resting against the headboard. Mycroft seemed more than a little worried, a frown marring his forehead. He looked as if I was about to bolt out of the room, as if I was about to make a dash for the bathroom and lock myself in there.

Such faith he had in me.

"Did-Did you just... Did you call him..." I whispered, mainly to myself.

I couldn't get any full sentences out. I didn't know how to react apart from amazed. Mycroft had actually used our brother's _name_. He didn't refer to Sherrinford as ' _The Other One_ '. Mycroft used his name...

For a moment, Mycroft looked down, tugging slightly at the right hand sleeve of his sweater. He looked more uncomfortable than I had ever seen him, even biting at the inside on cheek. He hadn't done that since he was eight, as far as I could remember. Reaching out, I rested my hand on Mycroft's forearm. He jolted at the touch, his head snapping up to look at me with wide eyes. Sighing, I watched as Mycroft completely deflated, his head dropping to stare at the covers on my bed.

"Back then, I thought calling Sherrinford by how _they_ referred to him would convince them." Mycroft murmured. "I only call him that when _they're_ around. I don't enjoy doing it, nor did I ever mean to hurt you with it."

Quicker than I expected, Mycroft moved. My hand fell off his arm, but he quickly wrapped his arms around me, one hand on the back of my head. I could barely move.

"I've never meant to hurt you with anything, Sherlock." he whispered. "I'm sorry."

* * *

It took Mycroft a while to calm down. Longer than I would ever expect. His grip on my was deathly, not in the way our parents grip ever used to be, however. The moment he let go, we rearranged ourselves until we were both leaning against the headboard of my bed, sitting side by side.

"I've been looking for him." Mycroft said after a while. "For years I've been looking for where they've put him."

"Really?" I asked, hopefully. "Do you have any leads? Do you have an idea of which part of England he could be in? Is he even in England? Do you think he's ok? Well, obviously he's not, but you know what I mean. Do you think-"

"I know nothing, Sherlock."

All words died in my mouth.

"I've tried to get them to tell me. I've tried hacking into every database I could think of that may have a record... Nothing. Even Gregory's Father has no idea." Mycroft explained. "I'm trying everything I can think of to find him."

Pulling my legs to my chest, I rested my chin on my knees.

"Do you... Do you think Sherri remembers us?" I muttered, keeping my eyes down. "Do you think he even thinks of us?"

"I have no doubt in my mind that he does." he told me, pulling me into his side as he put an arm around my shoulders. "No matter what happens, I believe he will always remember us."

"Do you think we'll ever find him?"

"I hope we do. But I don't know for definite."

I suppose that was the most I could ever ask for.

"Remember when Sherrinford took us camping?" Mycroft chuckled.

_**FLASHBACK: Saturday, 27th November 2004 - Sherrinford's POV** _

_I wouldn't exactly call it camping. All I did was show the boys how to pitch a tent, in the garden, and we were going to spend the night in it, just the three of us. Our so called 'Parents' had disappeared off to France for a long weekend, meeting up with friends and business partners for some sort of social party or another. I was pretty much left to look after my baby brothers. Well, I say_ baby _brothers, but they were three and six and smart as hell... I didn't care. I would always see them as my baby brothers. Mycroft still had his puppy fat, a little more than other children had, but not much. He was highly self-conscious and our 'Parents' helped none... No one seemed to realise that he still had some growing to do and, as he grew up, he could lose a lot of the weight. Mycroft's hair was a dark, pure red, light freckles covering his pale skin. He was a great kid, smart and sweet... But no one could get past his weight. Sherlock was...well, I couldn't think of how to describe Sherlock. He was so many things rolled into this little ball of energy. His intelligence was terrifying at times and his creativity was inspiring. He loved his experiments, yet he wanted to be a pirate... Sherlock was a good weight for a three year old, though shorter than most his age, his curly hair almost black looking and contrasting with his porcelain pale skin. No one seemed to be able to keep up with him... They were both amazing kids, all they wanted were for people to like them. They didn't want others to see them as freaks._

_"Perfect!" I grinned. "We're ready for tonight, boys."_

_As Mycroft walked to my side, Sherlock ran around the tent and straight into my legs, wrapping his arms around my hips and grinning up at me, resting his chin on my stomach. Wrapping one arm around Mycroft's shoulder's, I placed the hand of my other arm on the back of Sherlock's head._

_"We sleep here_ all _night?" Sherlock asked, excitedly, almost vibrating with his eyes wide. "We won't get in trouble?"_

_"As long as we don't tell Mother and Father, it should be alright." Mycroft smiled. "Right, Sherri?"_

_"Exactly. It's going to be our secret." I chuckled. "We're going to stay up as late as we can, we're going eat as much as we can, we're going to have as much_ fun _as we can. Just the three of us."_

**(Small Time Skip)**

_The sun was just starting to set when the boys and I found ourselves in the tent. Of course, Sherlock brought Redbeard along too. He loved that old dog too much to leave alone in the house. The old boy had become more Sherlock's dog than anyone else's. Redbeard was good for Sherlock._

_Inside the tent, we had a huge abundance of junk food and fizzy drinks, not to mentions food and water for Redbeard, stashed along the far wall. As soon as we got in and the doors were zipped shut, Sherlock rushed to bury himself under his duvet, wrapping it around Redbeard as well._

_I was dreading the day Redbeard passed away._

_"Good boy, Redbeard!" Sherlock giggled, hugging to dog to him. "You staying next to me."_

_I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. There was always this pure innocence that seemed to radiate off of Sherlock, no matter what our Parents did to him, no matter what anyone called him... I never wanted him to lose that. I wanted to protect both of them, keep them both away from what was really out there._

_I didn't want either of them to face what I was._

_I wanted my baby brothers to be safe and happy._

_Mycroft and I sat down with Sherlock, lanterns ready in the corners of the tent to give us some light once it was dark. Redbeard didn't settle down fully until all of us were comfortable, waiting until then to lay down next to Sherlock, his head on Sherlock's lap._

_"Right, boys," I grinned. "What do you wanna do first?"_

**(Small Time Skip)**

_It was just after ten that evening, when both Sherlock and Mycroft were asleep. I had both of them curled up at my sides, their hands fisted loosely in my shirt. It calmed me, knowing my brothers were with me. Knowing they were safe._

_It calmed me to know no one could get to them, not without going through me first. As long as I was around, I would never let anything happen to my brothers._

_I was only a year older than Mycroft when It started. It was the night of my birthday, Father had given me a great new bruise... I had been in my room for just over half an hour, trying to ignore the pain so I could sleep. Obviously, I was having no luck. Which was why I heard the door to my room creek open. The man was a few years older than Father, a glass of Jack Daniels in his hand. He wasn't drunk, however, that I was certain of. I pretended to be asleep, hoping the guy had just taken a wrong turn. He hadn't. That much was made clear to me when he started speaking to me. The things he said, the way he moved around the room, the way he looked at and touched me... Even at seven years old, I was aware as to exactly what he was doing. I hurt, but I couldn't scream. He had crammed three fingers into my mouth, stopping me from making any noise. I could barely walk, I couldn't sit down, I couldn't sleep. I thought that was it, I thought that was the only time it would happen, because it didn't happen again. Then, weeks later, after Mycroft was born, it happened again. And again, and again. I never knew when it was going to happen, until it was too late._

_I didn't want anything like that happening to either of my baby brothers. The two of them were the only good things in my life. They were the only things keeping me around, keeping me alive. I was the first to hold them, the first to feed them, the first to change them. Everything a Mother or Father should have done, I did. I was more a parent to them than a brother. And, one day, I would take them away from our 'Parents'. I just had to wait until I was eighteen._

_Only five more years..._

_**END OF FLASHBACK - Back To: Friday, 8th May 2015 - Sherlock's POV** _

"I can't even _think_ about marshmallows anymore." I groaned, a smile impossible to keep off of my face. "It was the most fun I ever remember having in that house."

"Sherri definitely made it better." Mycroft agreed. "Which is why we're going to make things better for him. One day, we'll get justice for everything."

"I hope you're right, Brother Mine. I hope you're right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, but I've been having a lot of issues with family, University, my anxiety, etc. It's kind of knocked me off of my writing. Trust me when I say I'm trying to write for my fics as fast as I can.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review XD  
> Thanks XD


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